Fun and Games
by sss979
Summary: Between the pilot episode and Children of Jamestown, there were a number of missions. This is one of them. Complete with a stowaway. Cowritten with Tiggertoo, Book 10 of 19
1. Prologue

**TITLE: Fun and Games**

**AUTHOR: sss979 & Tiggertoo**

**RATING: PG-13**

**SUMMARY: Between the pilot episode and Children of Jamestown, there were a number of missions. This is one of them. Complete with a stowaway. (Book 10 of 19)**

**WARNINGS: General violence, mild adult situations.**

_In loving memory of lost friends. - Fig_**  
**

**Prologue**

Face had promised Hannibal that Solange was the perfect restaurant for him to take a last minute and very lovely date. And Face had been right. Candle light, linen table cloths, sterling silver flatware, and floor to ceiling glass walls looking out to the Pacific Ocean two stories below. The place was certainly both elegant and charming. It also had a waitlist of over four months. Of course, that waitlist hadn't prevented Face from getting him a reservation for two at the best table in the house on a Friday night, with less than twenty-four hours notice. Hannibal owed the kid one.

The beautiful blond woman sitting across from him was suitably impressed. Judging from her smile and the way her gaze lingered on him, they would be ending this evening in bed at his apartment. He could think of no better way to spend his last night of R&R before their next job got underway.

"How did you ever manage to get a reservation here?"

Hannibal smiled and raised his glass, as if that was answer enough. She watched him for a moment before her eyes shifted to look over his shoulder. He had no time to consider what might be behind him before he heard the unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked.

"Good evening, Colonel Smith."

The voice was familiar. It was feminine, low and subtle, but he couldn't mistake it for anyone else. His smile didn't fall as he finished the sip of wine, then set his glass down as she continued. "Allow me to say you're under arrest."

"Suzy, what a pleasant surprise." He tipped his head back and looked over his shoulder at her. "I'd ask you to join us, but this really isn't a good time."

"It's Suzanne."

"I'm a little tied up at the moment. I'm sure you understand."

"How unfortunate for you. Move. Now."

He stood slowly, keeping his hands where she could see them, well aware that she was watching his every move.

"What's going on here?" the blond asked, staring at them both in confusion.

"Special Agent Davis, CIA," Suzanne responded. "And your date is a wanted fugitive."

"What!"

"You know, most CIA agents don't go around announcing their affiliation," Hannibal taunted. "That's kind of the nature of the game, if I understand it correctly."

She never took her eyes from him. In a professional, polished, federal agent voice, Suzy spoke to him, addressing Charlotte's question. "Transport will arrive shortly, at which time Colonel Smith will be placed into U.S. Military custody where he will face charges of robbery and treason."

He was already scanning, debating the fastest way to the nearest exit. It was either through the second story window beside him - a bit messy, but doable - or across three tables to the bar, behind which was a door to the kitchen. There had to be an exit from the kitchen. The front door was too far.

In any case, he would need to buy himself a few seconds first. The gun that was trained on him belonged to a woman who sounded sufficiently pissed off - maybe even pissed off enough to shoot him. Again.

"I thought your bosses had no more interest in me, Suzy." He turned toward the windows- the only wall anywhere near him. But he was in no particular hurry to hold it up. "What happened? They change their minds?"

She already had the cuffs in one hand. She kept the other hand firmly on her gun. "Hands on your head, Colonel."

Her voice was cold and there was a definite undercurrent of anger. But more than that, there was the thrill of someone who was on the hunt. He knew this was personal for her; he had made sure of that.

Eyes not leaving him, Suzy nodded toward the glass wall. "I'm sure you know how to do this by now."

Hannibal complied slowly. The sun was sinking into the ocean, and it was just dark enough to turn the window into a mirror where he could see the entire restaurant. They were on the second floor, and below them was a patio - outside seating for the same restaurant. That would make the window exit interesting. He observed the people below casually as he set his hands on the back of his head.

"It's nice to see you, you know." He grinned wickedly as he raised his eyes and watched her reflection in the window. "I believe I have something that belongs to you."

Her smile turned immediately to a glare. "Trust me, you have nothing that I want."

She gave him a small shove as she put the cuff on his left wrist, then moved quickly to bring it down behind his back. Of course, now came the hard part. Since she was holding one hand behind his back, she was forced to come in tight to him to grab his other. It also brought her gun close to him.

It wasn't hard to knock her off balance. Really, she should have waited for backup to make the arrest. The gun fired - he knew it would, on reflex alone - and the bullet went through the window in front of him as he spun out of the way and behind her, leaving the cuff hanging off of one hand.

The collective scream of surprise and fear from the restaurant's patrons was expected, as was the scrambling to the ground. He didn't let any of it distract him. Before she had a chance to react, he was behind her. Hannibal jerked her gun hand up in front of her and had his hand around hers, pulling the trigger until the window shattered into a thousand fragments and fell to the tables below. The people down there would've had warning from the gunshots, and it would take the glass a few seconds to reach them. And even if they didn't get out of the way, there would be no substantial injuries. He had to think about these things, after all.  
Her training kicked in, right on cue. Suzy stomped her heel down on his foot and threw her head back. It was a good move and on ninety percent of the people in the world it would have been more than enough to break his hold on her. But then again, he wasn't most people. He was expecting it; it was exactly what she'd been trained to do and his training wasn't all that different from hers.

He took the heel - which was really only meant to distract him - and turned his head away so that she hit his jaw and not his mouth or nose. It hurt - might even bruise - but he wasn't incapacitated. She was the one who was stunned when he grabbed her arm with his cuffed hand, wrenched the gun away, and threw her haphazardly to the side - into the next table over.

Hannibal barely looked below him as he dropped out of the shattered window. He had just long enough to check for the safest place to roll to a landing. It was only the second story; he'd taken worse falls with much more dangerous surfaces to land on than a wooden patio.

There was enough of an aisle between the tables that he was able to hit it and roll, and he was back on his feet with minimal hesitation. He smiled as he took off, over the railing and around the side of the building. Too bad the date hadn't ended the way he'd been hoping. But all things considered, there were worse surprises than the fact that Agent Suzanne Davids was back in town.


	2. Chapter One

**CHAPTER ONE**

Face opened the door within a few seconds of the knock, giving Hannibal a quick onceover before stepping aside to let him in.

"Hannibal, please tell me you did not get in to a fight at Solange." The dread was clear in both his voice and the way Face pushed his hand through his hair. "Do you know how long it took me to get in with the Majordomo there?"

"Well, it wasn't really a fight." He smiled at Face. "It was more like a shootout."

Face groaned. "That's _not _any better."

Amy was in the kitchen, staring at him with wide eyes as he stepped in. "Hannibal? What happened?"

He gave her a grin and a little wave. "Hey, kid. Can you get the first aid kit for me?""

Pulling out a shiny black bar stool from the breakfast bar, Face motioned for him to sit as Amy hurried away. "A shootout," Face repeated, opening the freezer and grabbing an ice pack. "In the finest French restaurant in LA. Great, just great..."

The cuts on Hannibal's back were substantial enough that even as he carefully shrugged out of his jacket, he winced. The shirt underneath was stained with blood. He was going to need stitches, and he knew there were at least two large pieces of glass sticking out of his shoulder.

"Just tell me that's not a good portion of the glass wall from the second floor dining area in your shoulder," Face continued, irritated.

Smiling broadly at him, Hannibal held the ice pack to his jaw. "How'd you guess?"

Face inspected the glass in Hannibal's shoulder before he turned and washed his hands at the kitchen sink. He was drying off when Amy returned with the first aid kit. Out of the corner of his eye, Hannibal watched her chew on her lip. There was a fair amount of blood on his back; he could feel it. It wasn't as bad as it looked, but it looked pretty bad. At least, it would look bad to someone who had never seen what shrapnel could do to flesh. The scars Hannibal already had made these few more seem almost superfluous.  
Opening the first aid kit and sorting supplies, Face let out a disgruntled sigh. "You burned another restaurant. Do you have any idea how hard it is to get into these places? How much time and effort it takes? Finding just the right person, stroking the right egos, greasing the correct palms."

Face stopped only long enough to offer Amy a smile. "Can you wash up and give me a hand?" For all the charm in that, Face could have been asking her to dance. He must have caught on to her shock.

Amy's eyes got wider, but to her credit, she didn't hesitate. Nodding silently, she quickly moved next to Face to wash her hands. Face must have been satisfied because he launched back into his chastising without missing a beat.

"You guys keep it up and we won't be able to get a table at Chicken-n-Ribs. It's going to be hard to impress your date at the drive through at Jack-in-the-Box."

Face slipped on the gloves from the kit and opened the gauze. Hannibal noted the peroxide. He only used the peroxide when he was pissed, most likely because it stung more than the rubbing alcohol. Hannibal would let him have his revenge without comment. After all, he had just destroyed Face's most recent favorite restaurant. Okay, Suzy had helped with that. There was no hiding his grin as he imagined how she was going to write that up in a report.

"What do you need me to do Face?" Amy's concerned voice cut into Hannibal's thoughts. He couldn't fault her for that concern; she was a civilian. This was something she would expect a hospital to handle. For the team, this was just one of the small prices of doing that they did and being what they were.

"Thread that needle for me, please." Face's tone was too understanding and pleasant. The kid was up to something. Whatever it was, Hannibal let it slide for now.

"Got it."

Hannibal could feel the cold, wet gauze on his shoulder and the electric jolts of pain traveling along the nerves as Face grabbed the embedded glass with the forceps from the kit. He ignored the pain as Face pulled the glass out and walked Amy through her task as the assistant - pouring peroxide over the gash. At one point in his life, this might have hurt a lot more. Now it was really just a minor irritant.

Face's was on his second stitch when he asked, "Was it Lynch again? Boy, I tell you, I should start sending him bills for all the maitre d's I have to bribe at these places he delights in crashing. I should file for some kind of tax write off as a business related expense."

Turning his head to look back over his shoulder at Face, Hannibal grinned. "Actually, it was Suzy."

"Who?"

"You remember her, don't you, Face? Pretty? Young? Works for the Agency? Kinda impulsive?"

"Oh, you mean the one who _shot _you?"

"She _what_?" Amy cried, startled.

Hannibal laughed.

"She also left you handcuffed naked to a bed, if I remember correctly." Hannibal could hear the smugness in Face's voice as he continued his stitching. "I still owe her a thank you card for that."

Amy's horrified expression made it clear she was missing the humor. "Who is Suzy?"

"Suzanne Davis," Hannibal answered. "She works for the CIA. They had a beef with me about a year ago over some stuff that happened in the war. I haven't got a clue what she wants now. But it'll be fun to find out."  
"If the handcuff on your wrist is any indication," Face said, "I'm going to guess she wants you in jail."

"Jail is too simple. The idea of that being her motivation would be like opening a Christmas gift to find a pair of socks."

"Heaven forbid," Face said dryly. As he tied off the last stitch, Face set the needle down and looked at Amy. "Can you hand me one of those big bandages over there?"

Amy complied. Taping the gauze down, Face moved his sights to the other large piece of glass, sticking out just below Hannibal's shoulder blade. "I don't suppose there is any chance you personally offended her in some way and this is her attempt at payback?"

Judging by the amount of well cultured sarcasm in that statement, it was obvious to Hannibal that's exactly what Face thought happened. Of course, he was absolutely right.  
"Payback, now that's more Suzy's style."

She did have style. Not a lot of success in outwitting him, but lots of style. Trying to reach for a cigar from his tattered suit jacket without moving his back, Hannibal let himself have a few seconds to think just how creative Suzy would be with her attempts.

"I'll have to ask her next time what she's got planned."

"Next time?" Face was already done with the second, smaller set of stitches and was checking Hannibal's head for glass, picking a couple small pieces out of his hair.

"Hannibal, don't you think maybe you should lay low for a while? Huh? I realize you enjoy winding Suzanne up, but..." He paused to pull another chunk of glass from Hannibal's skull. "If this is any indication, it's safe to say Suzanne has it in for you. And she has a very powerful agency behind her. It's not like we need anyone else breathing down our necks. Maybe we could go on vacation for a while? A nice beach resort maybe?" 

** "**If the Agency still wanted me, she would've been back long ago. Or they would've sent someone else with more experience. This is a personal project. I'm not sure just how much the Agency is going to back her, especially given her less-than-discreet methods." He paused long enough to fish his lighter out of his pants and enjoy a well earned cigar. "Besides, I've got one last meeting tomorrow morning with a client, and then we can take a real fun vacation."  
Finished with Hannibal's injuries, Face peeled off the bloody gloves off and tossed them in the trash, then pulled his lock picks set from his pants pocket. Nothing in his body language or tone changed as he set to work on removing Suzy's handcuffs, but Hannibal could feel the seriousness that was emanating from under that perfect and carefree exterior Face wore.

"Go ahead and enjoy your fun and games, Hannibal. But mark my words, you keep poking at her, trying to get her to swing, and it's just a matter of time before she lands a punch." The cuff slipped off of Hannibal's wrist and into Face's waiting hand. "And when that happens, we could all take the hit."


	3. Chapter Two

**CHAPTER TWO**

Amy had never seen anything like the sight of Face stitching up Hannibal. No lidocaine, no narcotics, not even Tylenol. Hannibal grinned and laughed like jumping out of a window while being chased by a gun-wielding CIA agent was the most fun he'd had in ages.

Judging by matter-of-fact manner in which Face took care of him, this was something they were accustomed to. She wasn't sure why she was so shocked. They were wanted fugitives; she knew that. She had gone on a mission with them. She knew it was dangerous, and that they normally couldn't just go to the local hospital. Still, there was something sobering about seeing the blood and damage up close and personal.

While Face got Hannibal a shirt to wear, Amy busied herself with clearing away the remnants of the Chinese food and bottle of wine they'd been finishing up when Hannibal knocked. She was still cleaning up when Face escorted Hannibal out.

Finally, she made her way back to the leather sofa and sat down as she picked up the open folder from his glass coffee table. All of the furniture in his penthouse was top of the line, high end, and designer. The sofa alone was probably worth her whole year's salary. Part of her had to wonder just how he afforded this place.

"Now. Where were we?"

She glanced up and saw Face standing next to her, smiling as he held out a glass of chardonnay. Taking the glass from his hand with a smile of thanks, she took a sip before speaking.

"We were going over the basic history of Dorada." She glanced over at the file and then closed it. "But I think that can wait."

"Wait?" Moving as gracefully as a cat, Face sat down beside her, stretching an arm across the back of the sofa as he reclined comfortably. His action wasn't presumptuous or forward; it was completely casual and relaxed. "Wait for what?"

He was sitting close enough that she could catch just a hint of cologne. She couldn't identify the scent, but it was slightly spicy and woodsy, undoubtedly expensive and very nice. Twirling the stem of her wine glass, she eyed him. He really was gorgeous...

A little startled by that thought, she forced her mind to the task at hand. This was a prime opportunity to find out more about the team and their past. "Hannibal is really addicted to the jazz isn't he?"

Face smiled as he glanced away, but didn't immediately answer.

"He sounded almost happy that he was forced to jump out a window."

"Yeah, well... That's Hannibal."

She noticed the way his hand absently stoked the leather underneath his fingers. Did he feel it too? That rush from the jazz? Was he addicted to it the way Hannibal was?

"I get it," she said. "The jazz, I mean. It's a thrill, outsmarting the bad guys and escaping the danger. But Hannibal, he can't seem to go a day without it."

Face shrugged comfortably. "Like I said, that's Hannibal."

Leaning back into the soft cushions of the sofa, she waved her wine glass to the file she had brought. "I bet you he takes this job."

Face laughed quietly. "I'm not much of a gambler." He leaned in slightly, a knowing smile on his lips, and lowered his voice a bit. "Especially when I know I'm going to lose."  
There was something in his eyes and voice that made her suddenly very aware of him, and had her taking a sip from her glass of wine to relieve the sudden dryness in her mouth. His smile suddenly had her thinking all sorts of things she hadn't been expecting.

Her voice responded to his, dropping lower, becoming smoother when she spoke again. "Not much of a gambler? I know what you do for a living. Every day is a gamble for you."

"Sometimes," he admitted.

"And you know what?"

"What?"

Setting her glass down, Amy studied him carefully. He really was an extremely good looking man, with an aura of sensuality that he seemed to be totally unaware of.

"I think you love it."

His shrug was subtle. But in spite of the casual body language and matching tone, his eyes were roaming over her. "I guess you could say that the payoff is worth it. I'd love to live a quiet life somewhere - settle down, have a family. But it would be very hard to make that happen. This job sort of redefines 'late night at work', you know?"

"Maybe you don't like it the same way Hannibal does. But you like helping people. You like the thrill of the chase, too. I can tell."

"Sometimes." He paused briefly as he met her eyes again. Something in her warmed when he flashed her a perfect smile. "I do what I'm good at."

Those eyes on her were like a physical sensation. Hot and appraising. Judging by his smile, he liked what he saw. That was a good thing, because she liked what she was seeing and feeling as well.

"You know, I have a hard time picturing you living in the suburbs with two-point-five kids and a dog."

"Why?" The way he was looking at her - like she was the sole focus of his universe - made it hard for her to think clearly.

"You're too..." Amy found herself searching for the words. He was too good looking, too tough, too smooth to be anything so ordinary. "You're too unique for something so mundane. But I can understand why something tame might appeal to you."

Shifting slightly, she turned to face him and gave him just a glimpse of her thigh through the slit in her skirt.

"You and the guys risk so much to help so many people. I'm so glad to be part of that now."  
He lowered his head slightly, not breaking the eye contact. He set his hand over hers on his knee, lightly stroking the back of her wrist with his thumb. "I'm glad if you are. You've certainly done a lot in gathering this information tonight."  
The warm hand over hers, the casual stoking of his thumb... It was almost enough to make her shiver. But it was the look in his eye that had her forgetting what she was talking about for a second. She could feel the heat in his gaze, and it sent a responding wave of heat through her.

Letting her voice drop to a husky whisper, she smiled. "I could do more for you."  
"What did you have in mind?" He moved closer, until his lips almost touched hers, then turned his head to whisper in her ear, hot and teasing. "Because I can think of a few things I could do for you, too."  
Heart beating a little faster, she ran her hand further up his leg. "What can you do for me?"

It wasn't teasing, and it wasn't quite a challenge. She wanted him; she was going to take him to bed. But she was just beginning to suspect how much she might really enjoy the process.  
His lips brushed her earlobe lightly, barely touching. She shivered. Dear God, that felt good. "What would you like me to do for you, Amy?"  
How couldsuch a little touch have such a deep impact? Sucking in her breath, she held it until he was done speaking, then slowly exhaled. Letting her warm breath play over his skin, she slid a hand behind his neck and ran the other one over his upper thigh.

"Right now, I want you to kiss me."  
Hepulled back slowly, eyes on hers. Dipping his finger into the wine, he outlined her lips lightly before leaning in and gently kissing her, slow and sensual, coaxing her open as he slid his arm behind her to pull her in closer. Hereyes slid closed as she responded. She could feel that kiss all the way from the top of her head to the soles of her feet. Her mouth opened to him without a thought as her hand grazed over his groin.  
The kiss closed on its own, and Face smiled as he slowly pulled away. "If you'd like, we could take this somewhere a little more..." His eyes ran over her again, watching his fingers as they lightly traced down the front of her shirt. "Private?"

He looked back up at her face before it could be considered ogling. Caressing him lightly - he was hardening and she could feel it - she smiled seductively and let the fingers of her hand on his neck play with his hair. "I think that's a very good idea."


	4. Chapter Three

**CHAPTER THREE**

It wasn't even eight a.m. yet when the phone had woken up Face. He knew before he answered that it would be Hannibal, calling for a meet. The clients had cleared the background checks. Meeting them today was just a formality, really.  
In the bed beside him, Amy had stirred when the phone rang. She was fully awake by the time he hung up. Damn. It would've been easier if she'd stayed asleep. Of course, there was no telling what she'd do to this apartment - which she thought was his - if she woke up and found him gone. She was counting on the fact that she was going with them, and she wasn't going to be happy when she found out she was wrong.

"Was that Hannibal?"

He was already on his feet, and heading for the closet. "Yeah."

He glanced at her briefly and saw her lying on her side with her arm propped on the pillow, holding her head. She was smiling.

"He took the job, didn't he?"

"Of course. Though he could've waited 'til a semi-decent hour to call."  
Holding the sheet to her chest, Amy reached for her blouse, which had landed on the footboard last night. "I knew he would take these clients on," she said smugly.

She really thought she was something. Exactly what, he wasn't sure. A member of the team? A woman exceptionally worthy of his attention? In his opinion, she was neither. He might have been willing to accept her association with the team as a separate entity in a mutually beneficial relationship. They fed her stories, she fed them information. That would've been acceptable. Her half-assed attempt at blackmail, however, had burned that bridge as far as he was concerned. Anyone - man or woman - who pulled that sort of shit with his team lost his respect and trust in one fell swoop. And that, more than anything else, affected his personal opinion of her worth and significance to him.

"When are we leaving?" she asked, hastily shoving her arms into the wrinkled blouse.

"We're not leaving," Face clarified, stepping into the walk-in closet. He grabbed one of two sets of clothes he had hanging that were actually his. "I am leaving. You are going to work. And you'd better hurry," he glanced the clock on the bedside table out of the corner of his eye, "or you're going to be late."

"What? Wait a minute!"  
There was a flurry of movement and covers as Amy launched herself out of bed and snatched her panties off the bedside lamp. He wasn't sure how her panties had gotten there, but she had been in a hurry to get undressed last night. Face didn't bother to hide his grin. This was the part that was actually sort of - sadistically - satisfying. Almost as satisfying as it had been for her when she'd sprung her blackmail attempt and elicited a "yes" from Hannibal.

"What do you mean I'm not going?"

It was impossible for a woman to be indignant while putting her panties on. But Amy certainly tried.

"I'm a member of the team!"

"No. You're not."

"I got the information Hannibal needed!" Swiping her skirt off the floor, she stepped into it and yanked the zipper up.  
Face watched her in the mirror over the dresser as he fastened the buttons on his shirt. She was amusing when she was pissed off. Of course, he didn't blame her. She'd thought she was the one holding all the cards here. It must have been a shock to find out she was dead wrong.

"I've earned the right to go!"

Gracing her with his best smile, Face made his point known. "Sorry, honey. You're a lot of fun. But you're nowhere near that good."  
She stopped cold and fixed him with a glare meant to strike fear into his heart. If she had any sense at all, she would have figured out by now she was a very small fish in a very large pond. But she apparently hadn't gotten that memo yet. Hands balled into fists, eyes flashing, jaw clenched tight, she managed to grind out a furious, "Excuse me? What did you just say?"

Face smiled as he draped his tie around his neck, tucking in his shirt. "Well, I wouldn't want anything to happen to you out there."

He made sure his tone was so calm and casual it would be hard for her to tell if that was an honest reflection or if he really _had _meant what she thought he'd meant.

Folding her arms across her chest, Amy tried to kill him with a look. "First of all, I can take care of myself. And secondly, you know that's not what I was talking about."  
"Oh? What were you talking about?" His voice was so innocent that - as Sister Marlene would have said - butter wouldn't melt in his mouth.  
"Don't you dare get cute with me! You know exactly what I'm talking about!" Amy snarled as she stepped into one of her heeled shoes. "What the hell did you mean by 'not that good'?"  
It was time for Amy to learn a lesson in harsh reality. Smiling knowingly at her, Face pulled his tie off of his shoulders, and then moved close to her. He let her see his confidence and feel his charisma. They were gifts that he could wield as a shield or a weapon, depending on what he needed.

He lowered his voice to a deep, resonating whisper that he knew would make her flash back to just how good he had felt when he had moved in her, made her come, made her scream for him, flushed and panting with desire.

"I mean that as far as I'm concerned, you need to head back to your desk and write yourself an article or two. Because until you learn some basic survival skills and how to shoot a gun? You're one hell of a liability, honey."

He was close enough to feel her breath, and to see the fire in her eyes. She was fuming. And he found something so sadistically satisfying in her fury. She stood, opened mouthed, finally putting the pieces together. It was all there in her eyes. The realization that she had never been in control, he had. And just like she didn't control him, she sure as hell didn't control the team.

It was almost a full ten seconds before she could manage to sputter out, "You lying son of a bitch."

Her cry was followed that with a solid slap in the face. He let it connect, but grabbed her wrist before she could withdraw it. He made no move on her, no threat, just held her wrist between his fingers as he slowly looked up at her. "You tell me one thing I said to you last night that was a lie."  
She jerked her arm away. "You're not glad to have me on the team."

"I never said I was."

"You just lied to get me in bed with you," she continued, not even hearing him. "And the whole time you knew you were going to try and stop me from going with you this morning."

He paused for a moment, letting her vent until he was sure she was through. Then, finally, he reached up and touched the side of her face, feather lightly.

"I didn't have to lie to get you in bed," he whispered. "I barely even had to try. So you might wanna keep that in mind next time you decide to threaten me and my team with something like blackmail. Because Hannibal might find it funny as hell, but I don't. And making you scream in pleasure is the _least _sadistic thing I can come up with to show you that. So if you ever start thinking you're big and bad and try pushing my team around again, you just remember how willing you were to spread your legs for me."  
She growled audibly at him, but had nothing to say. Still smiling, he withdrew his hand, took a step back, and sauntered out of the bedroom. She paused only long enough to jamher other shoe on before she stomped out after him.

"You'll forgive me if I don't offer you breakfast," he said, "but I really need to get going. And I'll have to lock up, so..."

He gestured to the door as he sat down on the sofa to put his shoes on. She snatched the file from the coffee table and waved it around like a prize, before dropping it again.

"I know who you're looking for and where he's at. If I want to go, I damn well will."

With a well executed head toss, she turned and stormed off, slamming the penthouse door after her. Face watched her go with mild amusement. She could, in fact, catch a commercial flight down to Dorada. But he sincerely doubted she would. It would be pointless. She had no chance of finding them on the island. If she did go, her chances of living through it were fairly slim. She may be entitled and presumptuous, but she wasn't stupid.

He hoped.


	5. Chapter Four

**CHAPTER FOUR**

Murdock was bored and antsy. It had been almost three weeks since he had last been sprung and, frankly, if he didn't get out of the nut house for a bit, he was going to go nuttier. He had been in touch with Face. Hannibal had a line on a job and Face was going to meet with Amy to go over the information she'd gathered. Then Hannibal would have one last meet with the clients. So the early morning scam _de joir_ call from Face was a welcome sound for sore ears.  
The call itself had been short and to the point. "Pack your swim trunks and think drug reaction." Murdock had hung up the phone and let his imagination warm up as he shoved a few things into his small duffle bag.  
Thirty minutes later, he was ready to play when he heard Face's voice echoing down the hall. "What do you mean no one notified you? We have received very reliable information that due to pharmacopeia, Mr. Murdock has been experiencing potentially devastating side effects."

Sitting calmly on the end of his bed, Murdock held his comic book upside down and pretended to read as he listened to Face continue while the nurse unlocked his door.

"I don't know about you, Nurse..." There was a pause as Face stood in the now-open doorway and turned to read the nametag on the nurse's uniform. Murdock knew for a fact that Face was well aware that her name was Cindy, but the ruse gave him a good excuse to stare at her ample cleavage. "Nurse Cindy, but the FDA takes drug interaction and causal effects very seriously." Face held his official looking clipboard out and pointed at it for emphasis. "We need to transfer him to our clinical facilities to study the effects in depth."  
Nurse Cindy hesitated. "But I don't have any authorization for that."  
"Authorization!" Face managed indignant and appalled nicely.  
Suppressing a grin, Murdock joined in the game by looking at Face, sitting up straight, and speaking in a perfect Scarlet O'Hara drawl. "Well I do declare!' He batted his eyes and put a hand to his chest. "No one advised me that I would be receiving gentlemen callers."

They had shown "Gone With the Wind" all last week; it seemed only fitting to use it. Murdock considered it his own token revenge at whatever idiot thought an epic romance was a good idea for film night in the all-male wing of the VA.

Standing up, Murdock sashayed over to Face, only to stop and put the back of his hand to his forehead, letting his eye lids flutter. "Oh, I do declare, I feel the vapors coming on."

He swayed dangerously then blinked, straightened and let a confused, embarrassed look go from Face to Cindy, to Face and then back to Cindy. In his perfectly 'sane' voice he asked, "Did it happen again?"  
"Nurse, how long have these personality shifts been occurring?" Face snapped.  
"It's Mr. Murdock! He's always like that. Really." Cindy was stammering in confusion.  
"Always! Oh, and I suppose you have ignored all the other symptoms, too!" Face looked down and read from the clip board. "What about fainting, Nurse, hmmm?"

Murdock was on the floor before Face even finished the sentence.  
"Oh!"

Cindy was kneeling by his side immediately, while Face continued with, "Excessive hunger?"

Murdock blinked and gave Cindy his dazed and confused expression. "Oh! Hello. I would like coffee, toast, ham, apple pie, roast beef and eggs over easy please, waitress."

Face glared hard at Nurse Cindy, irritation radiating off of him "Get me a wheelchair right this instant! Before these symptoms get any worse!"

"But he's not any worse, I swear!" Cindy looked like she was going to cry. "This is normal for him!"

Murdock sat up slowly and gave Face a pleasant smile. "She's right you know," he said amiably. "I feel just like I always do. Occasionally paranoid, sometimes anxious, often manic, rarely depressive and bouts of intermittent memory loss, that's me." Really this was a lot of fun. He slowly stood up with the help of Face and the nurse.

"Nothing new or surprising," he pushed his hands into his pockets and gave a benign grin; letting Cindy get a false sense of security before lowering the crazy boom. "Well except for the whole Chimera thing. That's kinda new."

The nurse, who had been giving Face a vindicated looked, gasped a little and swung her wide eyes to Murdock. It was such a perfect shocked expression, he had to work to keep his tone and demeanor matter-of-fact.

"You know, in some ways I like having a parasitic twin. Keeps me from getting lonely."

He twisted his neck to the side and pulled down the collar of his jacket to expose a small but very detailed drawing of a woman's face - complete with thick curled eyelashes - right at the base of his neck where it meet the shoulder.

"I like having the company." He smiled at Face. "But I sort of wish it wasn't a sixty three year old housewife from Dubuque. Sure, Esther is nice all, but I always thought I would have more in common with my twin, you know?" Murdock let his bemused grin go from Face to the nurse. "I mean, how many recipes for strawberry rhubarb pie do I really need? They won't let me have a butter knife, let alone use an oven."

Face looked at him for a moment, staring a bit too long. He almost missed a beat before he swung back to the nurse. "Wheelchair. Now."

There was no room for argument in that. Nurse Cindy didn't say a word as she fled in the direction of the wheelchairs at the end of the hall. Murdock called after her in a sweet female voice with a flat Iowa accent. "Oh, careful dear! I don't want you to fall."

Murdock rolled his eyes and clamped a hand over his neck. "You see what I mean? What kind of twin talks like that?"

Murdock suspected Face was only half-acting when he took his arm and very calmly led him to the desk chair. "Please, Mr. Murdock, sit down before you hurt yourself."

Shaking his head, Murdock continued. "She never wants to talk about flying or how orange Jell-o is capable of blocking CIA transmissions. No it's always 'be careful dear', or 'did you wash behind your ears?', or 'you should always uses a pearl stitch when darning socks', or 'canning your own jams is an easy way to show your family you love them'." He gave Face a pleading look. "Do you have any idea how hard it is to be cool and manly with that type of chatter going on? They're already threatening to kick me out of the Manic Depressive Men's Acapella group because Esther insists on singing soprano and everyone knows that's Chuck's range but-"

He was cut off by the high and nervous voice of Nurse Cindy. "Oh, Mr. Murdock," she said sadly as while setting the brakes on the wheelchair. Moving around to stand in front of him, she cast a worried look at him and then at Face. "Dr. Thomas do you think he will be okay? I never thought this was anything other than his standard behavior."  
Deep concern was in Face's voice and eyes. "Let's hope so, Nurse Cindy. Because if he's not, and this hospital failed to report this incident, that carries with it serious legal ramifications." He handed her a business card and the clipboard. "I will be contacting you with an update just as soon as I have any further information. If any other patients begin exhibiting these same behaviors anytime in the near future, call me immediately. Do you understand?"

"Yes, yes, of course, Dr. Thomas."

She gripped the business card in her hand and hastily scribbled her signature on the forged release paper work. Handing the pen and clipboard back to Face, she was still clutching the bogus card as she leaned down and patted Murdock's hand.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Murdock. Please get better."

Murdock smiled and enjoyed the view of Nurse Cindy's impressive chest. That was a very nice bonus. "Don't worry. I'm sure Esther and I will get along just fine once we work out a sleep schedule and whether we should watch westerns or romantic comedies."

He let go of her hand as Face started to move the chair away. He gave a polite wave and craned his neck around to look back at the nurse, calling out in his Esther voice.

"Make sure you get plenty of fiber in your diet! Oh, and please ask them to clean our room, there is some soap scum in the shower."

As Face pushed him hurriedly down the hallway he didn't say a word. It wasn't until the elevator doors closed behind them that he finally spoke. It was as close to disbelief as Face ever came. "Parasitic twin? Really?"

Murdock smiled. "I dunno, Face. I think I kinda like having her around."

Face sighed as he straightened his tie and shook his head. "You would."


	6. Chapter Five

**CHAPTER FIVE**

Face was still shaking his head in disbelief as Murdock climbed into the car with a smile - and climb was literal. Instead of opening the door, Murdock vaulted it and landed with both feet on the leather seat, before sliding down and fastening his seat belt.

"Murdock!"

"Sorry, Face." He wasn't sorry. He was beaming. "Hey, any chance we can stop for food? I'm really feeling the excessive hunger pains from the pharmacopeia."

Face sighed. "Hate to tell you this Murdock, but pharmacopeia just means you're on a lot of medications. There's nothing wrong with you."

"Well, I declare, you need to make up your mind, Sonny."

Face gave "Esther" a wary gaze. Murdock's answering smile was all he needed to see to know that this was going to be a very long day.

"First you tell me I'm sick and then you tell me I'm not!"

Face sighed as he left the wheelchair on the grass in front of the car. Some orderly would come and get it sooner or later.

"We need to get moving," Face said. "Hannibal's expecting us back any minute. No time to stop for food."

The gleam in Murdock's eye made it clear that Murdock didn't care all that much about the food. He seemed barley able to contain that energy that seemed to pop up whenever he spent too much uninterrupted time in the VA.

"Where we goin' Faceman?"

"We're going to find and bring back a missing UCLA professor; out of contact for about four months."

"Where at?"

"Dorada."

Murdock opened the glove box and rifled through it. Face frowned, pausing just before he inserted the key into the ignition. "What are you looking for?"

"A cheeseburger."

"In the glove box?"

Not finding any food at all, Murdock closed the glove box with a sigh. "What was a UCLA professor doing in Dorada? Isn't an unstable former communist island nation in South America kinda a strange place for an intellectual to take a vacation?"

**"**According to his coworkers, he took a sabbatical from UCLA to go work down there. The University of Dorada - it's the only one in the country - was hosting him for a six month assignment to authenticate some primitive art pieces for a museum they're trying to open."

"Oh, I _love _museums!" "Esther" exclaimed.

Face sighed as he shoved the key in the ignition. Best to just ignore "her." Maybe Murdock would get tired of the ruse before he went toe to toe with BA over it.

"Everything was going fine for about two months," Face continued. "Then he dropped off the face of the earth."

"I take it he's not the dropping off the face of the earth type?"

** "**Not according to his coworkers. They took up a collection to pay our fee. They're all bleeding hearts."

"Course they are. They're professors in California. Ten years ago, half of them were probably having blood drives for poor old Charlie."

Murdock was smiling, but Face could hear the harder undertones in that. Some things never went away; they just got easier to push down. Face said nothing as he pulled out of the parking lot and into traffic.

"As long as they pay our fee, I could care less who they bleed for."

"Any reason to think he's in trouble and not just run off with the local circus?"

** "**Not really. Though he was supposedly contacted by a reputed art smuggler before he disappeared. Someone by the name of Ramon."

**"**Oh, a smuggler named Ramon! That sounds promising."

"Well, if he is in trouble, that's probably the first and best place to look."

"I take it the US consulate/embassy types are not willing to get involved."

**"**I assume not. No sense risking an international incident for one little old professor."

Murdock was studying him, eyes narrowed in concentration. Face could feel the weight of his stare, but kept his eyes on the road until Murdock finally spoke up.

"Weren't you supposed to get information from Amy last night?"  
At that, Face couldn't hide a slight grin. "Yep."

"And she was the _only _woman you were around last night?"

** "**Yep."

"And you slept with her."

Face glanced at him with a completely innocent look. "Whatever would give you that idea?"

**"**You got your 'I just got laid' smile on."  
"Is that a distinct smile?"

"Yes, and you have it a lot." Murdock grinned and pointed a finger at Face's neck. "Plus, you still have some of her lipstick on your neck. British turncoat red, I believe."

Face rubbedat his neck, checking for the lipstick on his fingers until he was sure it was gone. "It was an amusing evening. But it won't be happening again."  
"Amusing, huh? Just what every gal wants to hear."

Face shrugged. Amy had never specifically been the topic of discussion between the two of them, but he had no doubt that Murdock knew how he felt about anyone who would have the gall to try and manipulate the team the way she had.

"Why do I get the feeling Amy isn't going to be a charter member of your fan club?"

Face shrugged. "She's already mad because she was under the impression that last night meant she was going with us down to Dorada."  
"Why? We expecting to need a press release?"

"Not as far as I'm concerned."

Murdock stopped laughing and shook his head. "Bet she took the news real well. Did she do that thing where she scrunches up her face?"

** "**Yes." Face smiled as he remembered it. "As a matter of fact, she did. And if Hannibal is serious about keeping her around, I have a feeling we'll be seeing a lot more of that look in the weeks and months to come."

*X*X*X*

The jet Face had scammed was small, but beautifully appointed. Hannibal was currently enjoying both a cup of Brazilian coffee from the small galley and a rather fine Dominican cigar from the humidor he had found in the teak bar of the cabin. The humidor had been right next to a business card holder with the name of a large oil company on it. That had been a nice touch on Face's part. A couple of Americans showing up as tourist would have raised eyebrows, but an oil company looking to scout out and jump on newly opened opportunities in the formerly communist country would be expected.

Tapping his cigar into the ashtray, Hannibal glanced around the cabin. BA was sedated and strapped into his seat - per usual and safer for everyone. Face was sitting in one of four large, overstuffed white leather chairs situated around a small mahogany table that screamed corporate power and backroom deals. Right now, it was covered with clippings and copies of stories and information on the island and the man they were looking for. Face was reading over them with the calm efficiency Hannibal had come to expect from him.

Sliding into the chair across from Face, Hannibal tapped his cigar into the large crystal ashtray conveniently left on the corner of the table. "So Face, what did you manage to find for accommodations?"

The capitol was the only major city in Dorada, and it was too small for a group of Americans to get lost in. That meant a hotel or rental in town was too risky. Face had said he could arrange something and Hannibal had left him to it. Leaning back in his chair, Face shot him a brilliant smile. Whatever the kid had found, he was very pleased with it.

"Since we needed some privacy, I found a place off the beaten path. A lovely little six bedroom beach estate, used by a photographer I meet a while back. It's located about twenty miles from the capitol."

"Beach estate, huh?"

"It has over a mile of private beach front, right along the coast. Thirty isolated acres, and its own small, private landing strip."

He looked like a cat who had just brought his prized catch for the others to see. And Hannibal had to admit, it was a hell of a catch. Hannibal grinned around his cigar.

"Nice work, Face."

"Thank you."

"So, just what was this photographer friend of yours smuggling?"

"Nothing but the capitalist dream, Hannibal."

According to Amy's research, Dorada had been one of the more unstable communist countries. It had gone through a series of crackpot leaders until the once thriving tourist trade had dwindled to nothing. Smuggling became the number one job opportunity in the country. That had seemed to change about two years ago when President Tomas was elected after his militia successfully ousted the sitting dictator, lovingly referred to as "pineapple face".

A fledgling democracy had taken root, but the poor city and villages were ringed by vast estates that had popped up all over the island coast. For the most part these "smuggler's den's" as the locals called them, were being sold off as the drug runners and smugglers looked for greener pastures.

"It _used to_ belong to a drug smuggler," Face continued, "which is a nice advantage for us. In addition to the airstrip, the former tenant built in some security upgrades we should find very handy." Face carefully set his cup down and then adjusted his tie. "There are also vehicles that belong to the estate. Shandra said we could feel free to use them."

Only Face could find so much, so fast, so far away; and do it all with a smile. "Sounds like you outdid yourself."

"Yeah," Face answered with a confident smile. "You're welcome"


	7. Chapter Six

**CHAPTER SIX**

Hannibal had just started to wonder how much further they had to go when Murdock announced they were approaching their destination. Yawning and stretching, Hannibal tried to get his brain back in gear.

"Once we get there, I want you and Murdock to set up, while BA and I go knock on some doors."

Normally, Face would have jumped at the chance to work on his tan. But something about the look he gave Hannibal made it clear he was concerned with just how he intended to knock. Since they were heading into a somewhat hostile and unstable foreign country, he wasn't too shocked about that.

Hannibal shrugged as he glanced down at the folder full of information that Amy had so kindly provided. She really had gone above and beyond to get them _everything _on their missing target. However, to get this much information, she would have made a lot of calls and inquires. If whoever had the professor was paying attention, they would know someone was looking and asking a lot of questions.

"The island is small. That means the chances that somebody knows him are big. And unless he had a bad habit of going out of his way to make enemies, they can't all be unfriendly."  
There was a dry laugh from Face. "Somehow, I don't think David Weibel is the type of guy who makes trouble or enemies. That goes against the whole art historians mystic. They're great for facts and research, but not so much on social scene, if you know what I mean."

Face help up a photo of the man in question and slid it across the table towards Hannibal.

Hannibal studied the glossy photo of a slightly balding middle aged man with thick glasses, a bow tie and a smile that seemed a little surprised. He looked had been interrupted from his own inner world of art to find a camera in front of him. Hannibal had a hard time imaging him making trouble. If he had to guess, David Weibel had barely left the artifact room at the future museum of Dorada.

"Besides Hannibal," Face continued, "every one of his former students and co-workers that I talked to at UCLA, swore he didn't have an enemy in the world. He was too busy dating and authenticating primitive art pieces to offend people"

"Right," Hannibal mused as he studied the photo, taking in every detail. "So where is he now?"

"What do you make of him, Hannibal?" Face produced yet another photo. This time of a different man and handed it to him, with an attached article from the New York Times.

"Ramon Escobar," Hannibal read. "Friendly local art thief and smuggler."

Face smiled calmly. "Are you planning on knocking on his door right away, or are we saving that for a team building exercise?"

Taking a couple slow puffs on his cigar, Hannibal ran through his options before speaking. "I want to see who knows David Weibel first. From everything we've heard, he isn't the kind of guy to suddenly take an unplanned vacation without telling anyone. But on the off chance that I'm wrong, he had to have friends and business associates."

"Start at the museum?"

"Yeah. We'll find out where he spent his time and who with. Then we'll hook back up with you two. Depending on what we find, we'll either split up to canvas more ground or stay together if we know where to look.

"If he left the island there would have been a paper trail," Face pointed out.

Hannibal set the photos back in the folder. "Amy's research was very thorough. I would imagine she would have uncovered it if there was one."

"Hmm." Face barely acknowledged that.

"The downside of Amy's thorough research is that we've pretty much lost any element of surprise. If somebody is trying to keep his whereabouts a secret, they're probably getting real edgy right about now."

Face closed the folder and set it aside, then lifted up his china coffee cup and took a sip as he watched Hannibal. "You do know she thought she was coming with us, right?"  
Hannibal set his cigar between his teeth. "Yeah, she mentioned it."

"That was your doing, you know. She really thinks she's a part of this team."

"Well, when we do bring her along, it'll be something local. And easy."

For all of his relaxed and causal actions, Hannibal could tell Face had serious issues with Amy being involved on any level. They were issues that Hannibal understood, but nonetheless came second to what he felt has best for his team.

"When?" Face challenged. "At what point did 'if' become 'when'?"

"She is an asset."

"An asset is different from a team member."

"And I don't much care which of the two she imagines herself to be."

Face sighed. "Hannibal, she has no experience, no training, and up until last month, the most dangerous thing she ever did was brave the midnight sale at Macy's. Now you're talking about bringing her on missions, where people _do _shoot at us with _real _bullets. You really think she can handle that kind of pressure?"

His voice was so controlled and modulated; they could have been talking about investment strategies. It made Hannibal smile.  
** "**No. But I think she can be taught. And I think what she contributes in the way of information," he held up the folder, "and a female presence that can be used to exploit a target is potentially worth the effort of teaching her. Assuming she wants to learn. And she does seem to."  
"There's a big difference between digging up background information and getting shot at. She doesn't even know how to hold a gun, let alone use one."

"There's also a lot of difference between pretending somebody's a soldier when they're not and sending an admittedly untrained and unarmed ally into a situation where you're going to cover them."

"What's your point?"

He gestured with his cigar at Face, keeping his tone neutral. "You've turned women and children on the VC who weren't half as willing to take that risk. And you had less ability to protect them.  
"That was a war. A reporter living in LA is hardly the same."

"The dynamics are different. The concept is the same."

"They had no choice in Vietnam. Guns and solders were coming for them whether they wanted it or not. And we had no choice then. We do now."  
Leaning back in his chair, Hannibal took a satisfying drag on his cigar, letting the warm smoke curl around his mouth before releasing it. He held Face's eyes and kept his tone as casual as ever.

"You can't deny that the decisions we made put those people at more risk than if they'd simply stayed out of it."

"No," Face agreed. "They were casualties of war. And if they didn't die, it was an added bonus. Is that how you see Amy?"

"I wouldn't advocate the kind of methods we used in Vietnam."

"I'd sure as hell hope not."

"But we're not asking her. She's asking us. And like I said, we have a much greater ability to protect her now than we ever did in Vietnam."

"How do you figure?"

"It's not a war. Whether they're shooting at us or not, the imminent threat of death is significantly lower here. They usually don't start shooting until you at least know who and where they are."  
Face just looked at him for a moment. They both knew the value of information: it won and lost wars and it could save their lives. Amy was a willing participant, but Face wouldn't like the idea. There were risks involved for Amy and, more importantly, for the team. But Hannibal was sure the benefits outweighed them.

Finally, Face gave him a small nod. "It's your call, Hannibal. But running around the countryside with her makes things a lot more complicated."

"I know that."

Face smiled. "Of course you do. And of course you're not worried about that. You're not worried about Suzanne the CIA agent with a vendetta, either. Amy kind of pales in comparison."  
Hannibal's slight smile broke out into a full grin. "Suzy the CIA agent is just for fun on the rare occasion she comes into town. Amy could actually make all of our lives much more interesting."  
The look Face gave him oozed sarcasm and skepticism**.** "You know, Hannibal, 'interesting' is one of those words that can mean anything. Like 'holding ones attention' or 'Oh, look, we're all going to die.'"

Hannibal smiled, and Face sighed.

"Somehow I know you like the latter more than the former."

"You know me too well, kid. But if it's any consolation to you, I really do think she'll be more of an asset than a liability, depending on the mission. And it's not like we're obligated to take her with us every time we hit the pavement."  
Face leaned back and rested his arms behind his head. "True, but you should also know she did threaten to follow us. And the last thing we need is someone trailing after us, raising even more suspicion."  
Hannibal's grin held**. "**Well, if she does that, then she's taken the whole thing entirely out of my hands. And then it's just a very pretty suicide."


	8. Chapter Seven

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

BA slowly came back to consciousness, aware of two things: a headache pounding just behind his eyes and strange, disorienting sensation of his nerves and muscles just coming awake from a long, enforced sleep. That meant only one thing.

"Hey man! I better not be on no plane!"

He was shouting before his eyes were even all the way open. It was pointless, but the deep fear in his gut refused to listen to the logic in his brain. Adrenaline made the fog in his head clear. Rolling fast to his left, he sat up, and immediately shielded his eyes from the harsh sunlight.

"Hannibal, I told you I ain't going on no plane!"

He was shouting over the ocean, and there was sand sifting beneath him. The part of his brain that was aware of this already knew that he was, in fact, on a beach in Dorada. If he hadn't just been drugged and shoved into a flying death trap he might have even admitted that the beach and the house beyond it were beautiful. As it was, he was too busy looking for someone to hit to listen to his rational side.

"Now, BA," Face was using that smooth, velvet voice was that guaranteed to mean he was lying though his teeth but no one would ever be able to prove it. "Do you see a plane around here? Hmm?"

BA's head swiveled around as Face made a sweeping gesture around the empty beach. How was he able to wear a three piece suit in the subtropics and not have a wrinkle, stain or even sweat? The fact that the question popped into his head at all had BA growling as he pushed himself to his feet, turning and growling at the three men on his team.

"Don't see no boat either!"

Just because he didn't see a plane or remember flying didn't change anything. Somehow or another, they had done it to him again. Clenching his fist, he glared at them, daring them to lie some more. But instead of a lie, it was an oddly feminine and distinctly mothering voice that answered him.

"Oh heavens to Betty's! It seems that someone got up on the wrong side of the bed." BA stared at Murdock, dumbfounded. "Maybe you should see about getting to bed earlier young man."

Before BA could think of anything to say, Murdock had shoved his hands into his pockets and was back to normal. "Don't know about you big guy, but I drove."

BA did not see the humor in that response, or in the fact that the man who was responsible for BA's life while he was unconscious and strapped into a hunk of metal thousands of feet in the air was talking as if he had suddenly developed a grandmother for an alter ego. The pounding behind BA's eyes was now a throbbing.

"You can't drive to an island!"

He took a step forward and grabbed the pilot by his jacket, lifting the startled man a couple inches off the ground, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him.

"BA, put Murdock down. Shaking him like that makes him dizzy."

Hannibal's tone was calm, but BA could feel his amusement. It was an amusement BA didn't share. Unclenching his hands, BA let Murdock drop back to sand.

"I ain't playing around Hannibal. I'm tired of you drugging me and shoving me in planes. Never know when I'm gonna end up in another country. Ain't doing it no more!"

BA folded his arms across his chest, ignoring the voice in his head that was telling him he as acting like a kid. The hand on his shoulder just squeezed a little tighter. The twinkle in Hannibal's eyes and the look of pure devilment made it crystal clear that he was able to hear the voice of reason in BA's head. And he was capitalizing on it.

"Can't blame you for not liking that."

Hannibal draped his arm over BA's shoulder and stared walking them both towards the house. He pulled the cigar out of his mouth and waved it up and down the beach.

"But you did wake up on a beach, not a plane. And," Hannibal continued, flashing a grin, "Face tells me there are three different vehicles, including an honest to god, surplus Army jeep in that estate up there. You can pick whichever one you one you want for our trip into town."

Hannibal finished his bribe by clenching his cigar back in his mouth and raising his eyebrow at BA. BA wanted to fight. He wanted to make his point with his fist. But it wasn't going to fix anything, or change the fact that he was in Dorado now. They had a man to find, a mission to accomplish, and that was what the focus should be.

Growling at Hannibal, he let his arms drop to his side and scowled as he marched to the house. Anger aside, he wasn't about to admit just how much we was looking forward to seeing the inside of that jeep.

*X*X*X*

Hannibal watched from the passenger seat of the old jeep while BA fought to hide his grin. The sergeant had a deep appreciation for well designed machines. Old Army jeeps weren't much to look at, but they would run until the wheels fell off. He would never come out and say it, but BA was enjoying his chance to drive one again. The look on his face made Hannibal grin slightly as he turned to look at the passing scenery, taking advantage of the time and the silence to organize his thoughts.

Face and Murdock were back at the borrowed estate, stowing the gear and securing the perimeter. That security would include the plane that was currently hidden away in the small hanger located at the far east corner of the grounds. Hannibal had to admit, the former owners had made sure to include some handy features for people who lived life on the run.

The island itself was beautiful - stretches of long pristine beaches, lush mountains, quiet little villages. But the beauty was tempered by the obvious signs of poverty. Years of power struggles between various factions had depleted money and hope from the people. The current leadership was pro-capitalist and pro-American - a nice change. Three years ago Hannibal and the team would have been arrested in jailed on site, just for being American. That would have made things a bit trickier.

In the capitol city, they were greeted by battered, faded storefronts, shelves that were half stocked, dilapidated cars, and stray dogs that were so thin you could see their ribs. They were all signs of a place that had seen hard times. But on the other hand, Hannibal noted some new construction. Several different groups of men were working on painting and repairing buildings. There was also a noticeable lack of heavily armed men. Those were signs of a place struggling to build towards something, not just content to crumble away.

That being the case, Hannibal had expected a much more welcoming reaction then he had received. Instead of assistance, he was met with furtive glances and the sudden inability of anyone to speak English. Not even the much sought after American money had helped loosen the storekeeper's tongue. It wasn't greed that was keeping him quiet, it was fear that Hannibal saw in those downcast eyes.

David Weibel, by all accounts, was a good man. According to his coworkers, he was the kind of guy who was so enthusiastic about his work, he tended to draw others in with his love for the work. Hannibal had expected some caution from people not used to dealing with foreigners. But he hadn't expected fear, and he sure as hell didn't like it. It had his survival instincts on edge.

Hannibal had planned on going to the one larger hotel known for catering to Westerners, but the looks and reactions from the locals around him suggested a change of plans. Smiling and nodding at the clerk who was suddenly fascinated by the chipped linoleum floor at his feet, Hannibal picked up the bags of food and walked towards the Jeep that BA was filling up with gas.

"Let's go, BA. We'll stop by Weibel's office on the way back."

It was a forty minute drive to the southeast corner of the city, towards the mountains. That meant it would take them only about twenty minutes to get from the university back to the estate.

BA didn't say a word until the pot hole riddled asphalt of the city gave way to the rutted dirt road that led back towards the coast.

"Them people are real scared Hannibal."

"So I gathered." Hannibal paused. "Did you get a chance to hear what they were saying?"

"Yeah. Some." BA spoke Spanish, so he would have understood things the locals might have assumed were safe to say. "They been told not to say anything. And to tell _el jefe_ if any Americans show up asking questions."

"_El jefe_?"

"Yeah. The boss. They didn't say his name. Everyone seemed to know who he was."

Hannibal sighed and looked away from the road as BA navigated a blind curve. "Looks like someone was tipped off by Amy's research." It also meant that whatever happened to Weibel was a secret that someone was very serious about keeping.

"She don't know no better." It was hard to tell if that was a statement or a condemnation.

"Not yet, but she can learn."

Hannibal reached into his chest pocket and pulled out what was left of his cigar. BA had nothing to say about Amy. Hannibal knew that any worries or doubts the man had about her, he would keep to himself.

By the time they pulled into the small parking lot in front of the university, Hannibal's cigar was gone. They made their way silently to the office of David Weibel. In less than ten seconds, Hannibal had picked the cheap lock, and let himself and BA into the small, cluttered office.

Hannibal moved to the desk, unlocking it as BA did a quick check of the room.

"Ain't no one been here in a while. Everything covered in dust."

A quick search of the desk turned up no more clues except that Weibel seemed to have a fondness for peanut M&Ms. Moving from the desk to the bookshelf, Hannibal scanned the books. His eyes came to a rest on a couple of noticeable gaps.

"Looks like there are a couple books missing."

"Maybe he took 'em with him."

If the office was any indication, the man's whole world centered on art and history. Definitely not the type of man take off on an unexpected adventure. One last quick glance around the office confirmed there was nothing more to be learned here. Locking the door behind them, BA and Hannibal stepped back into the hall, making sure no one was around.

Next stop, they needed to find out what his coworkers had to say. Hannibal could feel his adrenaline picking up at the thought. There was more to this than just a wayward professor. And he was damn well going to find out what it was.

As it turned out, the only person they found who was even willing to acknowledge Weibel's existence was the assistant professor who'd worked with him on the fledgling museum. He couldn't exactly deny knowing him. But the man's eyes were a bit too wide, too worried when he mumbled something about David being the type to wander off. Hannibal had pushed back on that, and finally got the answer he already knew: "You don't know what you are getting into. Leave. Go home. Please."

They'd learned all they would be able to learn from the school. It was a little after three as they headed back to the estate to meet up with Face and Murdock. They would have just enough time to get back, shower, have something to eat and then get down to business. It was time to come up with a plan.


	9. Chapter Eight

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

This was not her day. It had started out bright and early on a disastrous note and had slowly but steadily gone downhill since then. The only good thing that had happened was the fact that she had been able to get a seat on the only commercial flight available from LA to Dorada. Of course with the connections and time change, she didn't actually arrive until a little after six pm local time.

The last plane had been small and crowded; mostly with locals who were returning to the island from their better-paying jobs in the US. Her research had told her that history had made the locals very distrustful of banks. Instead of wiring money from bank to bank, most people choose to hand carry heavy metal briefcases full of hard-earned American dollars back to their homes. Most likely, each one of those cases carried the equivalent of a year's wages. Which meant that not only was the process of clearing customs time consuming, it was also dangerous. All that any unscrupulous person had to do was wait outside the airport and watch for one of those bright shiny cases to go past and they had a potential payday in their sights.

Aware of the danger, she headed straight from customs to the taxi stand located by what would have been a baggage pick up, if in fact any bags had been there. None were. It didn't matter to her. Everything she needed was in the carryon bag she had in her now-sweaty hand. Damn, it had to be at least ninety-five degrees and so humid she could feel her hair curling up into a frizzy mess. It would be nice to have some air-conditioning. She glanced around the airport. Okay, it would be nice if there had actually been glass in the windows.

It would also be nice if the man in front of her hurried up. She was hot, tired, hungry, sweaty and just plain miserable. The man was trying to argue over the price of the cab ride in mangled German-accented Spanish. It took a force of will not to roll her eyes.

After what felt like an interminable wait, she was finally in an ancient, dirty cab to make the two mile trip to the hotel. Sliding forward, she told the cab driver in English the address of the hotel. He responded with, "Yes, mama. Right away, Miss."

She smiled. Perfect.

"You speak English," she observed. "That must be helpful when you're driving Americans around."

She made sure her smile had just a hint of flirtation in it. Better to let him think she was just another overly talkative American, rather than someone who made a living by asking questions.

"Yes, Miss. Very helpful. Americans welcome in my cab." Judging by the calculating look in his eyes, what he like most about Americans was their tips.

"Oh, then maybe you know my friend. He should have arrived just before me."

Any further questions were cut off by an emphatic, "No, no, I know no one."

"But I didn't even tell you -"

"Okay, Miss, we here. You get out, yes."

The speed of the denial and haste in which he all but shooed her out of the cab seemed odd. But she wasn't about to push it. Instead she flashed her best airhead smile and slipped him a twenty dollar bill for a tip. In case he decided to change his mind about answering questions, it never hurt to let a good source know she was willing to pay, and pay well.

He didn't change his mind.

By the time she dropped her suitcase on the rather sad looking bed in her hotel room, the same basic scenario had been repeated twice more - once with the desk clerk and once with the bell hop. Friendly smiles and perfect English until she asked about her American friend. Then, just like that, their ability to speak English and the smiles they offered were gone. That wasn't the response she'd been expecting.

Granted, she hadn't really thought about what to expect. She had left too quickly to really think things through. That was something which didn't sit well with her at the moment. The facts were pretty basic. The island was not that large, nor were there many Americans who came here. It shouldn't have been difficult to track down any that did. It wasn't like Hannibal had been here long enough to stir up trouble. Maybe the worried reactions to her question had more to do with the island's political history than who she was asking about.

She cast a longing look towards the sparse bathroom as she debated what to do. The appeal of a shower and sleep was strong, but she was also hungry and not quite ready to give up the hunt. And she had noticed a couple people as she passed the hotel's restaurant/bar. Maybe she should grab some food and see if she had any success at getting some answers there. If nothing panned out, she could always come back to her room, get a shower and some sleep and plan her next move in the morning. The rumbling of her stomach made the decision for her. Dinner and questions it was.

Opening her purse, she took out her passport, her ID, and most of her cash and slid them into a small locking travel bag. She stashed it behind the cracked toilet tank in the bathroom. Travel experience told her she wouldn't need any of those and she didn't want to lose them. A woman traveling alone in a foreign country could be a tempting target for pickpockets and muggers, so no reason to tempt fate. With no hotel safe in her room, it was the next best place. Judging by the amount of dust, no one had ever looked there, let alone cleaned there.

She touched up her lipstick, then dropped the tube back into her purse. She had a photo of Hannibal in her purse. She was willing to bet he had been to town and asking his own questions by now. When she found someone who admitted to seeing an American, it would be a simple matter of showing the picture to confirm it.

Stepping back, she straightened her skirt and unbuttoned the top few buttons of her blouse. Satisfied with her appearance, she headed out of the room and back downstairs. There were armed soldiers talking to the desk clerk. They were clearly military, but they were not wearing the uniforms of the Dorada army. Some type of special guard, maybe?

Her first thought was to ignore them, but then the clerk raised a finger and pointed towards her. Stopping dead in her tracks, she watched in startled dismay as several guns and soldiers moved in on her.

Faster then she could think, she was being shoved roughly against the wall of the lobby. "What the... What's going on?"

There was a certain amount of anger in indignation that she didn't bother to hide. Who the hell were these guys? What did they want with her? The man with the most gold braids on his shoulders stepped in close. His gun was holstered, with good reason; there were four other barrels aimed at her. He spoke to her in harsh Spanish which she pretended not to understand.

"|What do you want, American?|"

"Just what do you think you're doing?" She let entitlement ring in her tone as she added, "I'm an American, you can't treat me like this!"

He slapped her, so hard and so fast her head snapped to the side as her eyes watered. She barely had time to register the stinging pain before a hand snaked into her hair and jerked her head back. Cold brown eyes locked on to hers, as he hissed at her, in English time.

"You are on Dorada soil." He paused and twisted her around then slammed her face first into the wall. "And you are under arrest."

Her arms were pulled behind her back as he slapped on hand cuffs that were so tight, her hands were immediately tingling. As she was dragged out of the lobby and herded into a waiting car, it occurred to her, yet again, that this really wasn't her day.


	10. Chapter Nine

**CHAPTER NINE**

"Whoever this guy is, by now he knows we're here."

Hannibal lit a cigar as he leaned back on the wood railing of the deck. One quick glance at the structural integrity of the railing made him think twice about that. He stood up straight again before continuing.

"That may put Weibel in danger, depending on who has him and why. So we need to move fast."

From his position on one of theteak chairs, Face put his arms behind his head. He looked very much like a spoiled playboy on vacation. It was a direct contrast to BA, who was standing ramrod straight, scowling and silent. Murdock was trying to find just the right spot on the railing to sit. Esther would have none of it.

"Oh dear me! This is too high to be safe! What if you fall? You could lose an eye!"

With a heartfelt sigh, Murdock changed direction and plopped himself on a deck chair. He was grinning when he looked up at Hannibal and asked, "How fast we gonna' move, considering how we don't have any idea what's going on? It's kinda hard to go fast when you can't see the road."

The way he said that made it seem like careening down a dangerous unknown road with no lights or brakes was fun. Not surprisingly, Esther disagreed. "Fiddle faddle young man! Safety first is the cardinal rule as you are well aware. There will be none of this risking you neck foolishness without good cause."

Much to Face's shock, BA's disgust and Hannibal's absolute amusement, Murdock actually blushed at Esther's scolding and ducked his head as he mumbled, "Sorry Esther."

Hannibal tired his best to look serious. "Don't worry Ma'am. His neck and yours are in safe hands."

"Man, why you gotta encourage him?"

Leaving his cigar in the corner of his mouth, Hannibal folded his arms and got back to business. "We got nothing out of the locals. Except that they're scared. And they're reporting to somebody they all know. _El Jefe_."

"The boss," Murdock translated. "That could be anyone.

"Yes." Hannibal paused for a moment, considering. "We're not going to get anything out of them. So our next place to look is that art smuggler, Ramon."

"Art smuggler." Face smiled. "Nice to see we are associating with a higher class of criminal. But just how exactly are you prosing we introduce ourselves to Ramon?"

Esther chimed in to answer that. "Well, when lacking a formal introduction, then a nice hostess gift, like a fruit or wine and cheese basket, is always a welcome and well mannered way to make introductions."

That was too much for BA. "He an art smuggler, fool! We ain't bringin' him fruit! And you ain't got no twin!"

"Tell it to her!" Murdock cried. "You think I like sharing my -"

"You better stop, Murdock," BA threatened, fist raised. "'Fore I knock some sense into you."

Murdock and Esther had been giving BA helpful advice since the second they had gotten back. There was only so much BA could take, and Murdock was having fun finding that point. Hannibal didn't bother diverting his attention to the two of them. They were more than likely going to be at it for the entire length of this mission. He had other things to think about at this particular moment.

"Ramon's residence was one of the few pieces of information that people were willing to give out - _before_ we started asking about Weibel. So we know where to find him. I'm thinking tomorrow morning, we go and introduce ourselves." He grinned around his cigar. "I'm sure he'll be more than happy to chat with us."

"Right, because smugglers are so often willing to share information with complete strangers." Face moved his hands, folding them in his lap. "Any chance you have some method of introduction other than Esther's fruit basket idea?"

** "**Well, if you'd like, you can take the first shot at gaining his willing cooperation," Hannibal suggested. "If your charm and charisma doesn't work, we can always revert to the tried and true AK-47."

"Oh, that sounds like a great idea," Face replied, his voice dripping sarcasm.

"Oh, come on, Face. Where's your sense of adventure?"

"Safely stowed away behind my common sense, all nice and snug."

Face glanced at Murdock, who was currently having a whispered conversation with his shoulder. "How about instead of putting myself needlessly and pointlessly into the line of fire, Murdock and I take a trip to the local village?"

"What good would that do?" BA asked. "We already been there. Nobody talkin'."

"You came as Americans," Face answered with a smile. "And, if I had to guess, you used a very minimal amount of charm and charisma."

"It is important to ask the right questions," Esther agreed, "and to ask them very nicely if you want -"

"Shut up, Murdock!"

Taking a few puffs on his cigar, Hannibal considered it for a moment. Face had a point. "You're welcome to try. At the very least, we still need to know how far _El Jefe_'s influence reaches."  
That didn't seem to sit very well with Esther. "Oh my, this _Jefe _sounds like a rather unpleasant man. You boys really should make sure to be careful. Eat all of your vegetables, get plenty of sleep and make sure to pack extra ammunition."

BA growled.

Murdock/Esther beamed at him. "I can tell by looking at this handsome young man that he eats right, exercises and takes excellent care of himself. Plenty of milk and green vegetables. Goodness, your mother did a fine job raising you. She must be so proud of you."

BA's granite facade cracked and for a second he looked truly confused. Hannibal hid his smile. Murdock had laid the perfect trap. There was no good way to insult - or threaten - someone who had just said such nice things about his mother. Finally, BA just growled again, silently plotting his revenge. Perhaps splitting those two up for a little bit would be a good thing. . "BA and I will go pay Ramon a visit tomorrow," Hannibal decided. "After some recon. The faster we get a line on exactly who we're dealing with, the better. If _El Jefe _considers us a threat, there's no telling what he might do to Weibel."

*X*X*X*

BA had taken the late watch; it was four wonderful, quite hours with Murdock and his latest delusion sound asleep. Plus, he figured was only fair, since the others had jet lag to deal with. Course, that served them right for them forcing him to take a long, drug induced nap on the plane. But even as fed up with being knocked out and dragged on and off planes like he was nothing more than air cargo, BA knew that a well-rested team had a better chance of success and survival, and that's was the name of the game on a mission.

Hannibal was up at dawn, like always. Face and crazy man, complete with the drawing of his "twin" on his neck, were heading to the small town by the university by nine. Thank god the fool's t-shirt and jacket covered up Esther. They had enough trouble with the locals here; they didn't need to see Murdock talking to his shoulder.

Murdock's latest little jaunt into weird and bizarre had managed to disturb BA. There was something disconcerting about hearing someone who sounded an awful lot like his Great Aunt Mable talking to him from a marker drawn face on a man's neck. It wasn't right. Murdock wasn't right. After a little bit of time around that, facing down some armed guards and an art smuggler seemed like a real nice time.

By noon, they had completed surveillance and were in position, less than five hundred feet from Ramon's beach estate. If this place was any indication, Ramon was making a good living by stealing. Flat on his stomach behind a small sand dune, BA let that thought slip to the back of his mind as he double checked his weapon.

"Ready, BA?"

Taking slow steady breaths, BA felt a calm energy build in him. They had a plan; he had a goal. Following Hannibal into danger was something he had done so often it was just natural as his heart beating. It made him ironically controlled and relaxed, even as he felt the adrenaline building inside of him.

"Yeah. Ready."


	11. Chapter Ten

**CHAPTER TEN**

Just to his left, Hannibal was watching the two guards. As soon as they left their positions to make a perimeter search, Hannibal gave the go signal. Little clouds of sand kicked up from their boots as they bolted silently across the open stretch of sand to the French doors of the study. Barely breaking stride, BA put his shoulder into the door and it gave way with a loud crack.

They had startled the man in the white linen suit, seated at his desk. His head snapped up from his paperwork when they entered; but he made no move, no sound as Hannibal and BA flanked him on either side.

"Hands where we can see them."

There should have been more of a reaction than the calm compliance. The fact that there wasn't made BA's grip tighten on his weapon.

"If you wanted an audience," the man said calmly, "you might have used the front door."

"Ramon Escobar I presume?"

"You presume correctly. And who, might I ask, are you?"

His English was impeccable, if accented. In spite of the cautious look he was giving them, he had a measure of composure that no man should have when faced with assault rifles. The man was a criminal and used to dealing with other criminals, but he was still entirely too comfortable. There was nothing in BA that liked that.  
"My name is Hannibal Smith."

"And you are an art collector, I assume?"

"Why would you assume that?"

Ramon chuckled and gestured loosely. "You come here with your guns, clearly you have a demand of some sort. And clearly you know who I am. It is not difficult to guess that you would want something you think I have."

BA caught the fact that Hannibal paused slightly, evaluating Ramon before giving an answer to that. "Actually, I collect art historians, not art. And there's one in particular I'm interested in right now by the name of David Weibel. Know where I might find him?"  
Steepling his fingers and smiling politely, the thief acted as if there were having a normal business lunch."Ah, Mr. Weibel. A very quiet, unassuming man, that one."

Ramon looked between them. BA could feel the assessing and cunning intelligence in that too-collected glance.

"He seems to be one of those types who could get lost in his work. Have you tried the museum?"

"I have." Hannibal's voice held the same cordial tone. "But it turns out they only deal in art itself. All they could give me was a very vague story of how he no longer works there. Luckily, it was suggested to me by a little bird that you might be more capable of producing an art _historian_."  
Breaking into a broad smile of his own, Ramon pointed finger at Hannibal. "Very good Mr. Smith. Your 'little birds' are an excellent sort of information. I do, in fact know someone who is in possession of an art historian. But unfortunately, that someone is not me."

BA's eyes flicked to Hannibal. He knew Hannibal was thinking the same thing. This was too easy. Nothing good ever came easy.  
He put his hand flat on his chest. "It is also unfortunate that I do not think the general is interested in parting with him at the moment. If he were, I might take great interest in acquiring him."

"Oh, I'm a very good negotiator. How about you tell me who this general is and I'll go see if he's interested in striking a deal."

Hannibal smiled fully, not showing anything but complete confidence. For some reason, that helped ease some of the tension in BA's shoulders.  
Ramon's smile was in place as he gave a careful turn of his wrist, indicting to the humidor. "Do you mind? I would get one for myself, but I fear the gentleman over there may take exception to that."

The deep calculating eyes rested on BA, eliciting a snarl from him. No way did he like that look; it made him want to shake the smug out of the guy.

"It would be a shame for something like an accidental shooting to ruin this talk."

There was an odd silence that settled over them for a minute asHannibal studied his opponent. Then, finally, he opened the box, retrieved one of the cigars, and passed it to Ramon. He was still waiting for an answer. BA wanted that answer and he wanted out of this place. Strong arming criminals into talking should not look like taking tea with Mama's bridge club.  
Ramon appeared to be in no hurry as he carefully snipped end of his cigar and lit it, clearly enjoying it. Sighing deeply, he held the cigar away from him and looked up at Hannibal, appraising him for a moment before speaking.

"General Amderiz has not chosen to share with me the location of Dr. Weibel. He could be anywhere. The general himself works from a compound fifteen kilometers west of the city."

For the first time since they had arrived, Ramon's smile slipped and something much darker came into his eyes. It was the look of a man who both understood danger and was used to it.

"But I feel it only fair to warn you, the general does not deal in good faith, or without a - as you Americans would say - ace in the hole."

BA felt his eyes narrow at that comment. There was nothing a general in a small foreign country should be able to have on them. Still that sense of unease and wrongness was back.  
"What does he want with Weibel?"

"That is a very good question. It is one I have no answer to."

"Sure about that, jack?" BA challenged.

Ramon didn't appear intimidated in the least. "If I knew what he wanted, I would tell you. I have nothing to hide."

"What did _you _want with him?" Hannibal demanded.

Ramon smiled. "A few artifacts. Whatever he did not consider worthy to be in his museum, I could surely find a good home for. And I would pay him handsomely for his time and effort, of course."

"Except he turned you down."

"Yes, he did."

"Which doesn't give you much reason to be concerned about his well-being."

Ramon laughed. "Mr. Smith, I am a businessman. It is true that I am accustomed to getting what I want. But tell me, what good are further negotiations with a man whose work has been halted by an untimely kidnapping, hmm?"

"You figured he'd be replaced with someone more cooperative."

"Hardly. It has been difficult enough to get _one _reputable man to come to Dorada. You think I would dare hope for another if something unfortunate were to happen to him?" Ramon shook his head. "I assure you that I want Weibel working in that art museum just as much as you do. When he grows tired of pouring his blood, sweat and tears into a thankless work, perhaps he will be more willing to strike a deal with me. And I'm most certainly not going anywhere. I am a very patient man."

BA watched as Hannibal processed those words slowly. He seemed to believe them. BA had to admit, if the guy was lying, he was very good at it.

"I'll be sure to put in a good word for you when we remove him from General Amderiz's custody," Hannibal said. He held his rifle pointed at Ramon as he backed up. "And since I'm sure you'll be on the phone with the general just as soon as I leave, you might tell him that he can expect me when he _least_ expects me."

"Actually, Mr. Smith, the general is already expecting you."

The shock was tapered only by the fact that he could just as easily be bluffing. But something in the tone of the man's voice was wrong. Why did Ramon sound almost sorry?

"He anticipated you would come here, as well. He asked me to give you a message if I should see you."

"What message?" Hannibal demanded coldly.

"That he has the woman who belongs to you."

BA growled to cover his shock and confusion. Hannibal merely blinked in surprise. It was the closest BA had ever seen him to being caught completely off guard. For Ramon's part, it was hard to say if his look of distaste was at the fact that he was being used as message boy or the content of the message itself.

"I am to tell you that if you wish to see her alive again, you will wait here while I call and arrange an escort take you to him."

Hannibal hid his reaction well, by force of will and force of habit. But it was very evident in just how long it took him to answer.

"What girl?"

Ramon set his cigar in the large crystal ashtray on his desk, and looked at Hannibal with something BA imagined passed for sympathy in this man's world.

"I was not given a name. But it would seem she had the misfortune of showing up in town asking about you. The general is very interested in all the recent inquires about his recently acquired art historian. He himself questioned her."

"Questioned," Hannibal repeated flatly. He understood the implication. But he wanted to hear it.

"She admitted she was looking for her boyfriend. One John Smith. That _is_ you, is it not?"

BA had to force himself to stand still. He could feel his heart beating faster. No wonder he was so calm. He had been holding all the cards here, right from the start.

"Did she say anything else?"

"Not that he shared with me." For just a moment, Ramon looked genuinely sympathetic. "Mr. Smith, he will not hesitate to do _much _worse to her if you cross him. If you do care for her life, I suggest you cooperate with him."

There was no smugness there, just a very harsh statement of fact. BA growled. As much as he wanted to tear the whole damn island apart, it wouldn't help. All he could do was wait and follow Hannibal.

"And if we don't, you'll be calling him."

"I will be forced to tell him that you came here, if he asks. But believe me, I have no interest in facilitating the torture of an innocent young woman."

There was eerily still moment were no one said anything. Then, finally, Hannibal lowered the muzzle of his weapon to the floor. The hard look and his eyes and the coldness in his voice had BA fighting a shiver.

"Alright. Ramon. Get your general on the phone. I'm dying to meet him."


	12. Chapter Eleven

**CHAPTER ELEVEN**

Face turned into the driveway a little faster than strictly necessary. The trip to the village had taken longer than expected. They were late meeting back with Hannibal at the beach house. If he and Murdock were gone much longer, Hannibal and BA would be mounting a rescue.

It wasn't that they were in danger, it was that they had one hell of a time getting anyone to talk. Even the people around the university were scared. Just getting the lovely little waitress at the cafe to open up took more of Faces charm and talent then he was used to expending.

While Face drawn attention, Murdock had sat back and smiled happily, looking for the entire world like a confused tourist with no clue about what was going on around him. Eventually the locals had started to talk in whispered Spanish. Like a sponge Murdock soaked it all in. When he had finally heard enough, Murdock had smiled and nodded his head to Face. They had paid the bill and left. On to the next place.

Word had reached even the small villages. Anyone asking about Americans was to be told nothing. Then they were to notify _El Jefe_, who was apparently a general, of who was asking what, where, and to whom. Any thought that their presence might not be well publicized was gone.

As Face rounded the bend in the long drive way, he immediately knew something was wrong.

"Um, Face? Where's the jeep?"

That was a very good question.

Face was scanning the perimeter as he stepped out of the car and let his hand brush over his pistol, just reassuring himself that it was still there and easily accessible. A quick sweep through the yard and then the cabin showed nothing undisturbed. They weren't back yet. Of course, that still did not answer the question of where they were. He'd been going to talk to Ramon. Even if Ramon had given him a direction to head in, he still would've checked in first.

"Oh, heavens to Betsy. He's not the tardy type is he, dearies?" There was a raised eyebrow as Esther voiced her concern.

Face was all too aware of all the things that could have gone wrong.  
"Esther has a point," Murdock said. "You think that maybe that General all them people were talkin' bout got to Ramon too?"

"What are the chances?"

"That Hannibal's piece a cake blew up in a screaming blaze of glory and icing? Pretty good I'd say."

Face hadn't really needed an answer to the very rhetorical question. It was a little too optimistic to think BA and Hannibal gotten caught up in traffic. And Hannibal's way with people had a tendency to get him into very interesting situations now and again.

"Should we go see if the jeep is where he said it would be?" Murdock suggested.

Face gave a heartfelt sigh as he headed back for the door and the car. "And go pay Ramon a friendly visit."  
"Oh my! That sounds dangerous. Should I bring my purse?"

*X*X*X*

Hands cuffed in front of them, Hannibal and BA were half marched, half dragged from the jeep and across the compound of General Amderiz. This treatment was nothing new to them. Hell, if there was an Olympic event for being prisoners, Hannibal would be a gold medalist. And BA would have a little bit of silver to go with all that gold on his neck.

The trick was _keeping_ them prisoner.

Smiling calmly, Hannibal let himself be led into the general's office, offering no resistance as he was roughly forced into a chair. It took four men and a rifle butt to the stomach to get BA's cooperation.

"Sorry guys. Handcuffs make him cranky."

The general was behind his desk yelling in Spanish on the phone. Whatever the call was about, it wasn't making him happy. Hannibal made a mental note to ask BA what was being said. No doubt BA would be listening and translating.

It didn't take long before General Amderiz slammed down the phone and stalked around his desk. He stopped in front of them and glared down. "Who do you work for?" he demanded without formality.

Hannibal smiled up at him in greeting. "My name is Hannibal Smith. I'd shake your hand, but I'm afraid that would be -"

The general cut him off with the back of his hand across Hannibal's face.

"I asked you a question, American! When I ask a question, you tell me exactly what I want to know and no more! Now who do you work for?"

There was too much intensity in those glittering dark eyes for them to belong to someone who was entirely sane. Hannibal took a moment to regroup. Alright. So this guy was the polar opposite of Ramon. There would be no rationale, no bargaining, no discussion or battle of wits. The only thing he would respect was brute strength and force of will. And even then, "respect" was perhaps too strong a word. Either way, Hannibal could play the "I'm tougher than you are" game.

Hannibal turned his head again slowly, smiling and glaring daggers at the man in front of him, saying nothing. The general growled as he glared down at him.

"You _will _answer my questions."

Hannibal almost laughed. This guy talked like he went to Crazed Maniac School. Not surprisingly, BA didn't seem to find the general quite as amusing as he did.

"We ain't answerin' nothing."

The man spun so fast it was almost startling. His hand balled in a fist, as he cocked his arm back and punched BA in the mouth.

"Do not speak to me, animal!"

He spat on the ground at BA's feet. Blood dripped from BA's lip as his head roll with the blow, but he said nothing. His face became an angry mask with deadly eyes locked on the General

Turning back to Hannibal, Amderiz's voice lowered but was still harsh. "You and your pet _monkey_, work for the CIA, yes?"  
"No."

"Liar!"

Hannibal knew the blow was coming. He didn't let it faze him. As he looked back up at the general, he kept his voice flat and emotionless. No more games.

"You have two things I want. One is David Weibel and the other is the girl you picked up who was asking for me. Give me those two things and I'll be out of your way."  
Hot eyes burned into Hannibal's. "Weibel is mine. I need him, and when I am done, I will slit his throat and dump him in the ocean for the sharks. That is what happens to agents of the US government who threaten to undermine my plans."

Hannibal didn't miss a beat. His voice was unemotional and smooth as he lied. "Weibel was working for me, not the government."

The general took a few steps back. He was trying to calm down enough to assess Hannibal. It was the first smart thing he had done since they got here.

"I read some of the work he published as a professor at UCLA. When he got turned down for a grant to come down here and start a museum, I funded him with the expectation that the new museum would be willing to exchange articles with the museum in LA that I own. He's not here to stir up trouble with you and your government. And neither am I."

"Liar. All Americans love our idiot presidente. Especially capitalist pigs."

The general seemed to be doing a little better at containing himself. But as a vile grin slowly spread over the man's expression, Hannibal began to suspect that General Amderiz's controlled side was just as nasty as his enraged side.

"Does your woman matter that much to you?"

Amderiz paused as he reached into a wood box on his desk and pulled out what Hannibal suspected was a genuine Cuban cigar. As he lit it, Hannibal sighed. What a waste of a fine cigar.

"She is quite pretty, no?" Letting smoke waft around him, Amderiz waved towards Hannibal with the cigar. "Well, she is not so pretty right now. But still, she could be fun."

Beside him, Hannibal felt rather than saw BA tense.

"Women do have uses." There was a pause as the general thoughtfully inhaled expensive cigar smoke. "And the men can get so bored."

"Weibel works for me," Hannibal said, bringing the focus back to a safer topic. "I came here to get him back."

"You lie," Amderiz growled, leaving the cigar in the ashtray as he came closer. "No rich American would risk his own neck by coming down here and getting in the dust and blood."

Hannibal's jaw was set. The worst that could come of this was still a thousand times better than the worst that Hannibal had seen. In a voice carved out of years of seeing the best and worst of humanity and leading men through the horrors of battle, he spoke, keeping his hard eyes locked on Amderiz.

"You can believe what you want. I don't answer to spics."  
Hannibal knew he hit a nerve, just as he intended. With rage, the general screamed in rapid fire Spanish. Pulling the pistol from his belt, the man moved as if to hit him with the gun. Hannibal didn't flinch, even when Amderiz stopped mid-swing.

Standing there shaking with anger, something came over Amderiz - something cold and not even close to sane that made Hannibal groan inside. Great. The man was fanatical _and _crazy. Throwing his head back, Amderiz laughed - deranged laughter, straight out of a carnival fun house ride.

"You think you are tough, yes." He lowered the gun and aimed it at BA's head.

It took all of Hannibal's willpower not to show any emotion as the General cocked the gun with an evil smile. A thousand thoughts raced through his head, but he knew instinctively that any reaction, any show of fear, would only encourage the madman.

"I give you a choice," Amderiz said with a smile. "Your pet or your whore. I _will_ kill one of them."

Hannibal didn't move, didn't speak. Slowly, Amderiz lowered the gun.

"And since I am such a _nice_ spic, I will give you time to choose."

"And what happens then?" Hannibal challenged, eyes cold.

"Then, if you tell me the truth and give me the names of your contacts, I might let the other live." That smile dropped to something reptilian. "There is a revolution coming. You cannot stop it. It is my destiny to lead us to victory."

Hannibal's sigh remained completely internal. Why did he seem to attract these maniacs, no matter what part of the world he was in?


	13. Chapter Twelve

**CHAPTER TWELVE**

Face and Murdock found the car BA and Hannibal had driven, still parked in the scrub brush, off the road and right where Hannibal had said it would be. The spare weapons were still locked inside. Something had gone wrong. And there was no indication, from the quick recon sweep around the perimeter, what that "something" might have been.

Face let out a deep sigh and then glanced at Murdock. "Front door?"

Murdock gave a grin and nodded. "A classic."

It was only a matter of minutes before they stopped the car in front of the house and knocked politely on the large, hand carved wooden door. Face watched Murdock as his eyes slid close for a second. When Murdock opened them again, he was in character. Thank God. The last thing Face needed was Esther piping in.

A large man in a small suit opened the door and spoke in Spanish. Murdock answered, indicating to Face, and the man looked him up and down before asking in English, "What do you want?"

"My name is Hans Carlisle and I have a lovely piece I would like Ramon to see."

"Mr. Ramon is not interested."

As the man moved to close the door, Face stepped in and stuck his gun in the man's chest with a calm smile. "I think he will want to see this."  
"It is by the famous Mr. Smith and Mr. Wesson." Murdock's grin was less calm, but he made up for that with more crazy as he let Esther speak.

"And that was just downright rude, young man! If there is one thing I can't abide by, it's poor manners! You should be ashamed of yourself!"

The guard held up his hands and stared at Murdock. Face helped himself to the gun in the guard's shoulder holster.

"Please, lead on."  
"Yes, I demand to see your employer and make him aware of your rudeness."

As soon as they entered the large study, Murdock had his weapon pointed at the man behind the desk. With one gun on Ramon's guards and one on the man himself, Face and Murdock were ready for anything. Except the longsuffering sigh the man gave.

"Again? This really is growing tiresome."

Face raised a brow, barely managing to cover his surprise. That was certainly not the response he was expecting. He waited a beat, letting Ramon make the first move, since he seemed to be more informed of the game rules than Face was.  
With a tolerant smile, the "art dealer" slowly and carefully waved towards his guard. "Since you so clearly have - as you say - the drop on me; perhaps you could release my doorman so we can talk in private."

Holding his gun steady, Face shot a quick glance towards Murdock. One look at his expression made it clear this was not the reaction he had been expecting either. Even Esther had gone silent at this turn of events.

"If it makes you feel better, you can lock them in the closet. But I can assure you that is not necessary."

Face frowned. Ramon had more security. Plenty of it, in fact. If he had wanted to make things difficult, he could've done it already. He was willing to act civilized, and something about his attitude had Face's instincts telling him to play it cool.

Following his gut, Face lowered his gun out of the man's ribs and gave a small smile. "You heard your boss, time for a break."

Looking first to Ramon and then at both Face and Murdock, the man turned and left through the door they had just entered. As they left, Face found himself staring at a man very unlike whom he'd expected to meet here. Small and slight of build, he was nevertheless well dressed and radiated confidence.

Ramon nodded towards humidor on his desk. "Would you care for a cigar, or are you in a hurry to find your associates?"  
** "**We're kind of in a rush." Face wasn't sure he trusted those cigars. He certainly didn't trust the guy behind the desk. His grip tightened around his pistol as he watched every movement Ramon made.  
"That is understandable." Ramon gave a grim smile. "General Amderiz is holding your friends at his fortified compound, fifteen kilometers west of town."

Face stared, dumbfounded. Could it be that easy? He had to be joking.

"And what did _you _have to do with that?" Murdock demanded when Face didn't answer.

"I was the messenger," Ramon said with obvious distaste. "The general is holding Mr. Smith's girlfriend."

"His _what_?" Face and Murdock were in unison.

"It appears she rather unwisely followed him here and made inquires as to his whereabouts."

Face managed to keep his groan inward as his brain quickly fitted the pieces together. She couldn't be that stupid, could she?

"If that's what happened, why tell us?" Face demanded. "Clearly, you work for him. So what's your angle here?"

"Work for him?" Ramon laughed. "Hardly. I work for myself."

"So what's your connection to him?"

Ramon hesitated for a moment, as if carefully weighing his words. "Everyone on this island knows of him. Everyone chooses a side, for or against him. As I wish to preserve both my life and my livelihood, I am 'for' him. But it would make my life much less complicated if he were removed from his place of power."

"If that's the case," Face said cautiously, "you should probably tell us how to get to this compound so we can rescue our friends."

"Just follow the main road, fifteen kilometers west of town. The first guard will be at the gate about five hundred meters on your right."

Ramon leaned back slightly in his chair and studied Face silently for a moment before he spoke with controlled calmness.

"There is one other thing that may help."

"What's that?"

He gave an elegant but careful flourish with his manicured hand. "_El Jefe_ hired an 'information extraction specialist' as soon as he was informed of an American reporter's persistent inquires about Weibel. General Amderiz is, unfortunately, rather paranoid. What he does not know is that the man in question, a German national by the name of Helmut Strauss, was arrested in Frankfort by the secret police. In fact, the good General is still waiting for the man he has never _seen_ to show up anytime now."  
And just like that, the conversation was over. Without so much as a good-bye, they were escorted outside and the door was closed behind them. Face frowned deeply as he stood still on the porch for a moment.

"Is it just me or was he _really _accommodating?"  
Murdock grinned for the first time since they had arrived at Ramon's. "I think he liked you, Face."

Face sighed, and glanced back at the house as he slid into the driver's seat. From beside him came the muffled voice of Esther. "What a delightful young man."

*X*X*X*

Cuffed to a solid, heavy wood chair that was stained with blood, Hannibal's expression was nothing more than an impassive mask. To his left, BA wore the same expression. Acting as translator, BA had kept Hannibal well informed on what, precisely, was happening. Amderiz had left to deal with trouble at home; he would return to "play" with them.

There was little they could do beyond waiting it out. Whatever torture the nutty dictator-in-training could dish out, they knew they could handle it. This was nothing new to them. Not that it was something either of them were looking forward to, but the general would have to be a lot more creative than Hannibal gave him credit for to think of something that they hadn't survived at least once.

Besides, Face and Murdock would know by now that something wasn't right. It was only a matter of time before they made a move. Hannibal could wait that out, torture or no. And, of course, there was another factor to consider as well: if Hannibal could keep Amderiz focused on him, then he wasn't near Amy. Hannibal knew what he and his men could take, but Amy was an unknown factor. She was trained or prepared to deal with a crazed madman's ideas of hospitality.

When he heard the lock on the heavy metal door clanking open, Hannibal turned his head towards BA. "You think its Girls Scouts selling cookies?"

The two guards in the cinder block and cement room didn't blink. Either they didn't speak English or they were lacking a sense of humor. He suspected the latter. It would be very stupid to leave two prisoners together with guards who didn't understand what they were saying. So far Amderiz had proven himself to be many things, but not stupid.

"Nah man, it's Avon. Comin' to drop off they order."

Hannibal was still grinning as he turned his head to the opening door to see what fate had brought him. Training kept him from laughing when saw the figure standing there.

Murdock was dressed in a white lab coat and glasses, looking all the part of a mad scientist from an old black and white movie. Face, dressed in a white suit and looking equally ridiculous with his coke bottle glasses, turned to the guards. They must have been expecting them, because they had no reaction.

"Since the good doctor does not speak Spanish, you will speak to him in English," Face stated calmly. "Or German if you prefer."

"I do not like ven people speak und I do not know what zey are saying!"

Murdock set a large doctor's bag on the small wooden table along the wall on the left side of the room, and carefully began to lay out his instruments: a scalpel, hypodermic needles, a hand drill - nice touch.

There was a brief exchange in pseudo-German between Murdock and Face; then Face was speaking to the guards.

"You two will need to procure a generator, a large metal tub filled with water, and a glass bottle of Coca Cola."

When the guards looked at him blankly, Murdock repeated the order. This time it was louder and with just the right amount of fanatic insanity. The guards knew that look of crazed intensity and they knew better than to question it. Face was humming "Deutchland Uber Alles" and meticulously tying a white butcher's apron around his waist as the guards double timed it out.

Hannibal waited until the guards were gone to smile. "Nice, guys." The smile fell quickly. "I take it you've heard how we ended up here."  
"Yes, Ramon was surprisingly cooperative on that front."

Face was already working, fast and sure, on the locks of the handcuffs. Murdock had his hands in the doctor's kit, and there was the soft click of a false bottom giving way. As Hannibal took a second to rub the circulation back to his hands, Murdock looked between him and BA.

"You guys hurt?"

"No."

Murdock grinned and pulled his hands from the bag. He was holding a pistol out to Hannibal. "We brought presents."

With a smile, Hannibal took the weapon. "Just like Christmas."  
Face didn't look up from his task of freeing BA as he asked, "Any idea where they're keeping Amy?"

"She's somewhere on the property."  
"They asked which cells to put us in," BA said. "That means they got more."

The second the cuffs were off, BA he was up and taking the gun Murdock held out to him. In a voice that sounded suspiciously like Esther - but muffled under the large bandage on Murdock's neck - Murdock continued. "There's a little something special for you, too, dearie."

With that Murdock reached into the bag and produced a small a small package of C-4. BA couldn't decide whether to growl at the falsetto or smile at the explosives.

"We didn't see any other cells." Hannibal checked the gun to make sure it was loaded, though he was sure it was. It was purely habit. "But I'm sure any one of these guards would be happy to point us in the right direction. Face, see if you can get that guard in here."

Face nodded and opened the door to the cell, calling to the guard at the end of the row. "You, come here. Now. We need assistance with the big one."

The guard must have hotfooted it to the room. As soon as he was through the door Murdock shut it and the guard was thrown up against the cell wall. His gun was stripped away well before he had a chance to react.  
"You speak English, pal?" Hannibal had the barrel of his gun wedged under the man's ribs. He expected either a yes, or a plea - one or the other. The man nodded, and Hannibal continued quickly, letting some of that cold hard anger turn his words into a very real threat. "Good. Because you're about to tell us where they're holding our female friend."

*X*X*X*

There was no dignity in this sort of treatment. Locked in a dark and dirty cell, sweaty, grimy, hot, hungry, exhausted, sore and miserable, she had to wonder what in the hell she had ever thought was appealing about this line of work. Oh, she remembered enough of the thrill of success to justify that driving urge to feel it again. But this gritty, dangerous, bloody experience was one hell of a price to pay. These kinds of field experiences made her think that that maybe her nice comfortable desk job wasn't so bad after all.

In the far corner of her cell, she sat and drew her knees up, hugging them with her arms, going over the whole situation in her head for the hundredth time. Jesus, how could she have been so stupid? The worst thing about it was that only her captors themselves - and maybe the people who'd brought her to their attention - even knew where she was. Hannibal couldn't find her if he wanted to - and he had no reason to look. Nobody back home had any idea where to look for her when she didn't call and didn't show. And even if they did, it wasn't like they'd drop everything to come find her.

When the general had found that damn photo of Hannibal in her purse, he'd decided to intimidate answers out of her. "That's John," she'd lied. "John Smith, my boyfriend. He heads an investment firm and I came here to surprise him."

It seemed like the best response at the time. Of course, the fact that the name sounded like a bad alias had not gone over well with Amderiz.

Gingerly, she ran her hand across her jaw, touching her cheek; it was swollen and most likely sporting a nice size bruise. Her lip and nose had stopped bleeding, but they still felt swollen and sore. Her side ached and she was pretty certain one or two of her ribs were cracked. There were bruises on her neck and arms, and also black and blue marks on her wrists from the cuffs they'd had on her before they threw her in here.

She needed a way out of here. There was no rescue coming, she was sure of that. And that meant it was up to her. She needed to wait for an opportunity. The next time the guard came to the door, maybe. The only person she had seen since she'd been locked in here was a guard who left a tray of something that didn't pass for food and a bucket of water. He'd be back eventually. Then she'd make her best move.

She went over it in her head, over and over again. When she heard the footsteps, she was ready. The overhead light didn't go on as the door creaked open. For whatever reason, he'd chosen not to flip the switch outside the cell. She had darkness on her side and the element of surprise. If there was any escape attempt to be made, now would be the time. Tensing in preparation to attack, she kept her head down, waiting for the guard to come within striking distance.

The familiar voice was nothing she'd been expecting. "Amy Allen?"

Her head snapped up as she stared at his silhouette - dressed in a guard uniform, no less - in complete and utter shock. "Hannibal?"

Still standing in the doorway, he flipped on the switch outside the door and she winced, shielding her eyes from the harsh light. By the time she was able to bring his face into focus, his expression was already changing from confusion to a hard, cold glare.

"You're not Amy."

For just a second, she felt paralyzed. She had been expecting anyone but him. It took her several long moments to even find her voice. "Who's Amy?"


	14. Chapter Thirteen

**CHAPTER THIRTEEN**

Hannibal all but growled at her as he stepped forward and grabbed Suzanne by the arm, yanking her to her feet. "I ought to leave your ass here, you know that?" Nevertheless, he pushed the door open further. "Let's go. We'll discuss this later."

She had nothing to say to that. She winced at the pain as he shoved her forward. Somehow, she felt for all the world like she was heading from the frying pan straight into the fire.

"You make one move out of line and I will drop you myself. So if you want to live I suggest you stay close and do _exactly_ as I say."

Indignant and angry, she bit the inside of her cheek to keep from saying a word. Step out of line? Was he kidding? What in the hell did he think she was going to do? Go running to the guys who beat her and dropped her in a cell? She wasn't even sure where the hell she was, let alone how in the hell to get out of here. Did he think she was that stupid?

_He just pulled your ass out of the mess you got in, _that little voice in her head mocked_. He has every reason to think you're that stupid._

Somehow knowing that did not make her feel any better about things.

She let him lead her out into the empty hallway, jerking her so hard after him that she nearly lost her balance. His other hand held a pistol out in front of him, ready to fire on anything that moved, but there was nothing about him that suggested he was likely to get trigger happy. There was speed and efficiency to the way he moved that made it seem like he did this sort of thing every day, and being in the basement of a military compound run by a hostile army was nothing more threatening than a fire drill.

Some part of her brain that wasn't cursing everything under the sun, noted the confident way he moved - never doubting, never slowing. It was oddly comforting. For the first time, she suddenly realized that she was staring right at that part of him that made what he was. She'd read his file a hundred times. But this - seeing it in action - was a different experience altogether. It also elicited far more of a reaction - and one she didn't expect. If she knew nothing else about him, in that moment she would have known that he was in control, and she was safe.

Head down, she followed as he pulled her along the cinderblock hallway. She kept her eyes and ears open for any sound of danger. It was habit and it offered her its own sense of comfort. But he was moving far too fast for her observations to keep up. Was he throwing caution to the wind or did he truly function at that speed?

Through the metal door and past the guard who was lying unconscious beside it, his grip was still tight on her arm as he pulled her up the steps, two at a time. She nearly tripped a few times, but he didn't let her fall.

At the top of the narrow staircase, Lieutenant Peck was waiting, staring in stunned shock at her. "Are you kidding me?"

Hannibal didn't even pause. "Let's go," he ordered.

There was no time for her to acknowledge Face's presence. For just a millisecond, the idea of pulling her arm away flitted around in her head before the vast stupidity of that move dawned on her. Face didn't say another word. He was out in front, moving almost quickly enough to be a jog, past a few bloodied and unconscious officers.

They'd almost made it to the end of the hallway - and all without a single gunshot - when the first bullets came from behind them. Hannibal's reaction was instant. He turned and threw her behind him, and was pressed against the wall, returning fire immediately. There was no run for cover - there was really nowhere to hide - and the guards were the ones who ended up scrambling back as he emptied his entire clip in their direction.

Face picked up where he left off, and he grabbed Suzy and shoved her further down the hallway in the direction they'd been headed as he reloaded. "Move," Face ordered emotionlessly.

There was no time for her to think, she did exactly what he said and moved as fast as she could in the direction he indicated. At some point much later, if she was still alive, she would have to think about the fact that she was trusting them blindly with her life. But that time was not now. Now was the time to duck and run.

Another set of just a few steps, a door that had once been locked but had been kicked open, and they were outside. Hannibal pulled her behind him again, surveying his surroundings. No one was shooting at them. Not yet. He stayed near the door. If anyone showed, they'd need it for cover.

She stayed behind him, breathing hard and blinking against the blinding sunlight. She was trapped between his back and the wall and she was glad for that. Until she was at least able to get her eyes adjust to light, she was vulnerable and exposed, and very aware of the fact that he was the only thing in a position to protect her.

"Okay, BA," Hannibal said into a small, handheld radio. "Hit it."

The explosion was not near enough to destroy the building, but it shook the ground where they stood. Frantic, angry yelling in Spanish was followed by a mad scramble of guards all around the perimeter rushing to extinguish the flames from the C-4/gasoline barrel combination on the south side of the complex. If any of them noticed Hannibal - or if any of them cared - there was no indication. He kicked the door behind him open slightly to call back inside.

"Face!"

Face was beside him within seconds, and they stayed close to the wall as they walked briskly around to the opposite end of the building from where everyone else was headed. Hannibal seemed to be expecting the car that screeched to a stop right in front of them. He opened the back door, grabbed her by the arm again, and shoved her inside, climbing in after her almost before she had time to move over. Face was in the front seat and the tires were kicking up a cloud of dust behind them before the doors were even closed.

Holding on tightly to anything she could grab, she didn't say a word as the car screamed across the compound. She suddenly realized she was nearly sitting on top of another man she did not know. "Welcome to flight 667," he greeted her as Face and Hannibal reloaded their weapons and watched the windows for any sign of threat. "The big angry guy will be your pilot. Please keep your seat backs and tray tables in the full upright and locked position. In case of a water landing, we are all gonna die."

"Shut up, Murdock! Shut up!"

She barely covered the shriek that escaped as the car hit the front gates with the accelerator to the floor. Behind them, all that was left in their wake was confusion and chaos. Finally, the tension eased. The driver let up on the accelerator. And Hannibal turned and fixed her with a deadly stare.

"Miss Davids, you have a _hell _of a lot of explaining to do."


	15. Chapter Fourteen

**CHAPTER FOURTEEN**

Face had been on more unpleasant car rides. But at the moment, he was hard pressed to think of when. The ride back to the cabin was silent and tense to say the least. BA concentrated on driving. No one would have been able to follow them even if they had managed to get a vehicle out of the burning, confused mess they had left at the compound.

Out of the corner of his eye, Face could see Murdock pressed as far against the door as he could go. His eyes darted between Hannibal and Suzanne before he finally settled on the looking out the window. Murdock, like everyone else - including the oddly silent Esther - was picking up on the anger that was emanating off of Hannibal in waves.

No matter how many years had passed since their Army days, that look from Hannibal still had them all on edge. Some things never died. And a truly pissed off Hannibal was one thing they _never_ forgot.

On some level, Suzanne must have appreciated just how bad things were for her at the moment. Bruised and dirty, she stayed quiet and still. She looked like hell, but considering where she had been, she could have looked a lot worse. Apparently she understood that. The only movement from her at all was the occasional furtive glance at each of them. Most likely, she was trying to figure out what was going on, and how to get out of it. Lord knew that was what Face would be doing if Hannibal's wrath had been aimed at him.

BA barely had the car in park and Murdock was launching himself out of the car door and onto the driveway of the beach house. He was so eager to get away from Hannibal's anger and the source of it, he stumbled a little over his own feet in his haste. Face was more reserved with his exit, but he empathized with Murdock completely. Suzanne didn't move. Instead, she watched Hannibal like she was waiting for his orders before doing anything.

"Get out."

Hannibal's directive, when it came, was as dead and cold as the look in his eyes. She would've been a complete idiot not to obey, even if she hadn't been waiting for it. In fact, she wasted no time in complying. Face watched as she glanced around at her surroundings, doing what she was trained to do - layout, entrances, exits, vantage points, weak spots. None of that was going to help her in dealing with Hannibal.

He didn't wait for her to take initiative. Instead, he grabbed her arm and shoved her toward the house. "Walk."

If the tone in and of itself hadn't been enough to prove to her that her gender wouldn't be sufficient to make him go easy on her, the way he handled her sure as hell did. He pushed her so hard she nearly tripped over her own two feet. But other than a quick gasp of pain - her ribs were bruised, not enough show of pain for them to be broken - she showed no visible reaction to Hannibal's less-than-gentle handling. Cleary, she was well aware of the position she was in. She wasn't wasting her time and energy doing things that would only make him angrier. Instead, she squared her shoulders, kept her eyes open, her mouth shut, and did what she was told.

In parade like fashion, Hannibal marched behind her. Face, Murdock, and BA all reluctantly brought up the rear. As soon as they were inside, Hannibal pointed wordlessly to the sofa. Great, he wasn't even bothering to speaking his orders now.

Once she'd sat down, Hannibal took just long enough to pull his gloves off of his hands before he turned and addressed her full on in that cold, dead voice that made Face want to instinctively snap to attention.

"Got anything to say for yourself?"  
Suzanne's mouth opened and her eyes darkened. Oh hell, that was the wrong reaction. Just as Face steeled himself for Hannibal in full-on fury, she thought better of provoking him. Her eyes went from Hannibal to Murdock. She took the warning as Murdock shook his head just slightly. Then she was looking at him, then BA, like they were pieces to the puzzle she couldn't place.

Face wasn't expecting a quiet, "Thank you."  
Hannibal stood still, eyeing her coldly and critically. "I was hoping for something more along the lines of an explanation. Or maybe a suggestion for what the hell we're supposed to do with you now." By the time he was finished speaking, his anger was apparent.  
In the following silence, Face could almost see her running through her list of options. Frankly, she didn't have a lot of them. Facing down Hannibal when he was in this kind of mood was like dismantling a bomb - one wrong move and she was done.

With her back straight and her eyes front and center, she tried for the detached approach. "I got a tip that you were researching Dorada."

Face almost felt bad for her as he watched the way her hands clenched. Swallowing pride and owning up to mistakes was never easy. It was especially hard in the face of an infuriated Hannibal.

"I screwed up and moved too fast."

There was a pause, as if she was hoping that was enough for him. But it wasn't, and she knew it.

"I didn't realize you were here on team business."

"What did you think? We were vacationing?"

"I don't know." She paused briefly. "Two hours after I arrived I was arrested."  
"Screwed up is a bit of an _understatement_, Suzanne."

"I know. I'm sorry."

Hannibal didn't raise his voice, but it was razor sharp and ice cold. "Interrupting my dinner date is one thing. Putting my entire team in danger because you can't think is quite another."

Suzanne's jaw set. Anger and frustration fought with logic and self preservation in her eyes. Thankfully, logic won. She stared at that distant point and silently took the dress down like a good soldier**. **She said nothing; there was nothing to say to counter that. It was the truth and every one of them knew it.  
Hannibal continued to glare at her, letting the heavy silence continue before speaking again. "I'll decide what to do with you later."

With that, Hannibal turned his back on her. Even though none of the anger was venting in Face's direction, his tone was still hard and cold as he spoke. And it still made Face stand at attention.

"Face?"

"Colonel?"

"What did you find out before we were interrupted by Ms. Davids' brilliant attempts at bounty hunting?"

"General Amderiz had put out the word that anyone who said anything about Weibel would be spending time as guests in his prison."

"Weibel?"

Suzanne's unexpected question earned a glare from Hannibal. "That's right, Ms. Davids. Before you showed up to try and bring us all to justice, we were trying to find him. Preferably before someone kills him, since I think it's pretty safe to assume at this point that he's made a few enemies."

"I know where he is."

Hannibal stared at her for a moment, expressionless. Face's eyes moved back and forth between them, but he said nothing.

"Well, in that case, why don't you enlighten us?"

"I heard them talking." She shifted uncomfortably. "They were trying to determine whether to bring him to the prison or if it was safe to leave him at the general's private residence. He's there now, under guard."

"And the guards just happened to discuss this right outside your cell door?"

"No," she said firmly. She was slowly regaining some of her confidence, but she was wise enough to keep any hint of challenge out of her tone. "That's where they took me first. Because it's where he was when he heard about me."

"Why didn't he keep you there?"

"He probably would've. But in case you didn't notice, he's a little bit racist." She exchanged glances with BA. "And he didn't much care for the color of my skin."

BA growled. Hannibal said nothing as she looked back at him.

"He didn't want me in his sight. Much less did he want to deal with me himself. It was kind of hard to tell between all the expletives whether it's because my father was black or because my mother wasn't. He turned me over to his guards, they questioned me, and then they threw me into the cell."

Hannibal was quiet for a long moment, studying her with that same cold, quiet anger. Finally, he spoke in a measured tone. "I don't suppose you remember how to get to this private residence."

The look she gave him was somewhere between a smirk and a glare. "Of course I do."


	16. Chapter Fifteen

**CHAPTER FIFTEEN**

Judging from the number of guards Amderiz had stationed around the perimeter of his residence, he had a lot more than just Tupperware inside. From the safety of a rise several hundred yards from the property, Face scanned the small buildings around the large stone house through high-powered binoculars.

"The outbuilding on the right," he guessed, handing the binoculars to Hannibal. "No windows, barred doors, and four guards. What do you think?"

Hannibal nodded. "That's where I'd guess. I don't think the general is smart enough to set up any kind of a decoy. He's too cocky."

He sighed as he lowered his binoculars and leaned on the door with his fingers massaging his forehead. Face frowned as he watched him.

"You alright?" Face asked.

"Knowing where Weibel is - even _exactly _where he is - only solves half the problem."

Face looked back at the house for a minute. That was very true. They still had to get _in _there.

"We could storm it," Hannibal said. "But four guards outside, plus the ones at the gate, probably doesn't scratch the surface of what we'll encounter inside."

"You know, I'm not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, but how do we know Suzanne's playing straight with us anyway? The Company and its agents are not known for being truthful."

"No, they're not." Hannibal's voice had taken on that dead, cold tone again. He was still furious with her, and it showed. "Believe me, if her story didn't match with what I already know about Amderiz, I would've dropped her right outside his gate."

Face raised an eyebrow. He was mad; that much was obvious. But throwing a woman to a torturer was unlike Hannibal, no matter how mad he was.

"You know he would've killed her."

"She's not an innocent here."

"It would've been a very slow and painful death," Face continued, watching him carefully. Just how angry _was _he?

"She should've known that when she followed us into a hostile situation."

"Would it have been any different if it was Amy?"

"Amy doesn't understand 'hostile situation.' Suzanne does. She has no excuse."

"And that kind of stupidity is worthy of death?"

Hannibal glared at him. "She's very clearly made herself an enemy. I knew that when I chose to finish what I started after seeing her in that cell. But if she turns on us? Or is anything less than truthful? I'm not going to submit my team to that sort of threat."

Movement at the gate caught Face's eye. It looked like a delivery. He watched for a moment before determining that it was just the mail.

"If she wanted to turn on us, she could have cut a deal with the general and told him everything."

"Not if he handled her anything like he handled us. He was screaming 'spy' and 'CIA' the moment we walked in. And she's both of those things."

"She could have claimed to be after you for the bounty."

"You think he would've believed that?"

"It might have gotten her put on the first flight back, but it would have given the General all he needed. And would've kept her alive in the meantime."

"You didn't speak to that general, Face. I did. She told him the best thing she could to keep herself alive. It was a smart move, but it wasn't out of any consideration for us."

"Chasing you around and kicking over the hornet's nest sounds like standard Suzanne MO. But turning you over to a foreign revolutionary?"

He paused briefly, and shook his head. "As far as I'm concerned, she's raised the stakes to an unacceptable level. I won't directly cause her harm, but I'm not going to bail her out again."

*X*X*X*

Murdock was just putting the finishing touches on dinner when he heard Suzanne enter the kitchen. Hair still damp from the shower she looked... young. Not that being young changed anything, or meant she was innocent. But there was something about the bruised face and impassive look, and the way she just stood on the doorway, silently watching him, that had him offering her a smile.

"BA's on patrol, so it's just you and me for dinner. Hope you like pasta ala Murdock."

She looked at the bowl on the table and then back at him, clearly taking the time to think before she spoke.

"Don't worry. It's just a fancy name for spaghetti and meatballs. Go sit."

She sat down and waited for him to join her. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it. Having you starve to death doesn't help anyone in this scenario."

She studied hi s eyes, trying to figure him out. He smiled a little more. Good luck with that. Whatever it was she saw must have been enough to convince her it was safe to eat, at least. He grinned. Good to know she wasn't expecting to be poisoned.

Still watching him out of the corner of her eye, she took a bite. She must have liked it because her eyes closed for just a second and the corner of her mouth twitched up. She went for another bite with a little more gusto.

"So how did you find us?"

Her fork stopped halfway to her mouth, and he raised a brow expectantly. Time to see how open she was going to be. Given that they'd just pulled her out of a prison she'd put herself in trying to track them down, she probably had more reason to trust them than they had to trust her.

"I had a tap on Smith's answering service. Someone named Amy said she had the information on Dorada. By the time I got the transcript, the information was a couple days old so I got on the next flight out."

"Why?"

She stared at him. "What do you mean, why?"

Murdock shrugged. "We all had our share of bounty hunters and military types and police and, well, you name it. But chasing us out of the country - especially when you don't know what to expect -" that much was evident by the fact that it only took her two hours to get arrested "- is a whole new level of dedication."

"I'm not after you. I'm after _him_."

"Same difference."

"There's a big difference." She set her fork down and looked him dead in the eye. "I thought it would just be him here, and I was in too much of a hurry to check."

Murdock gave her an odd look. Was she serious? "Man, you really don't know him very well, do you? What did you think, he was coming down here for a getaway?"

"I thought he was meeting Amy."

"And you thought he needed to come to South America to do that?"

Her eyes closed for a second and when she opened them there was something else in them. Shame? Embarrassment? "I wasn't thinking clearly."

That seemed almost painful for her to admit. Murdock gave a slight, sympathetic smile.  
"Well, the good news for you is that Hannibal doesn't hold a grudge long. Bad news is, I'm not so sure he'd see as how it makes much difference if you're after us or just him. 'Cause it took all of us to come get you out. And you did kinda follow us all halfway across the world."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

She paused, studying him curiously. "I get that you didn't think it was me, but still. Why would you risk your lives and the mission for one person?"

Murdock shrugged. There was genuine confusion in that question. And if she didn't get it, she wouldn't get it when he explained it, either. Of course, she was Agency. If she made a mistake, no one in the Company would acknowledge her existence, let alone come for her.

"It was stupid," she said low, dropping her eyes. "I was stupid, I get that. I got it the second I was arrested. Hell, I got it before I even set foot on that plane. He just..."

She faltered, anger choking her. Murdock raised a brow, and waited patiently for her to find words.

"Just...?"

Hands clenched tightly, she took a deep breath through her nose. "He blew up my car, kidnapped me - twice! He left me tied up." Her face flushed a little. "Shot out a window in a high class restaurant with my own gun, which he then took, which got me put on leave and then he practically dared me to come after him. He acts like it's all some damn game, like none of that matters, like it's all some joke. And then all of a sudden it's not a joke and he's all shades of pissed off. He should've just left me there. I could've handled it."

Murdock watched her for a long moment, then took a long drink of water before answering. "You should get with Colonel Lynch sometime and swap stories."

"Who?"

Murdock beamed. "He's the other person Hannibal likes to play with."

Suzanne's jaw clenched hard, eyes burning.

"Tell ya what, though. As long as you're seeing his sense of humor, you don't have much to worry about. It's when he gets angry that you gotta duck and cover. And I'll be honest, it's been a while since I've seen him that pissed off."

"Well, there's not much I can do about that now," she said coldly.

"Well you _could_ make it worse." He eyed her for a moment, evaluating her reaction. "Or you could just keep a low profile and give it some time. Like I said, he's not one to hold a grudge."

"Right now the only thing I want to do is get David Weibel away from the General. It was personal when I got here, but the general made it business; everything else takes a back seat."

"Well, that's good! In that case, Hannibal oughtta be smilin' again in no time."

At least, Murdock sure as hell hoped so.


	17. Chapter Sixteen

**CHAPTER SIXTEEN**

The only sound in the house was BA's soft snoring and the sound of the ocean drifting through the open windows from the beach below. Hannibal listened to it as he tossed the sheet aside and stood, passing silently to the door. Murdock would be awake; it was his turn on guard duty. He would be spending his time making slow sweeps around the house. Face and BA were sleeping, he had checked on both of them.

Suzy's bed was rumpled, obviously slept in, but empty. The clothes she had worn earlier were folded neatly on the dresser and her sandals were by the door. He studied the room for a moment. If she had run off somewhere, God help her. Time alone had given him enough of a break for the emotions to calm down. He wasn't as angry now as he had been. But still, he'd meant what he said to Face; if she got herself in trouble again, he would not sacrifice this mission - and quite possibly David Weibel - to rescue her. She would be on her own.

Hannibal slipped through the dark house like a shadow, disturbing no one and making no sound. He didn't have to think to move like that, it was second nature to him. It was just another way to gain an edge and maybe stay alive. He was in the living room when he noticed the French doors to the balcony were open slightly.

His eyes narrowed as he tried to look through the curtains. Someone was out there. Since he already knew where his team was, that left only her. He sighed as he went to the kitchen and poured a cup of water from the gallon that was safe for drinking, then walked to the doors and pulled them open slowly.

She was leaning with her elbows on the railing, a cigarette from a pack that she had gotten from God-knows-where in her hand. In the moonlight, the ocean below looked like a long stretch of boiling blackness. She watched as the whitecaps broke on the shore with a soothing, whispering sound against the night.

There was no indication that she had heard him, but she must have. She lifted her hand to display the cigarette. "I'm not planning on going anywhere. I just needed a smoke."

"I'm glad," he answered, stepping out onto the balcony with her. "Because if you did decide to go anywhere, you'd better have a plan for getting back on your own."

It was a threat, but his tone remained casual. It wasn't anything she hadn't already figured out, if she had half a brain. She was a lot of things, but he wouldn't call her stupid.

She took a drag as she glanced over her shoulder at him, then turned and leaned back on the railing. If she was uncomfortable, she didn't let it show in her expression. But she didn't want to have her back to him. That said a lot, in and of itself.

"Being a guest of General Amderiz again is not something I aspire to. And being chased around this island by a heavily armed, vastly superior force while I am armed only with a pack of truly awful cigarettes also holds very little appeal."

"Good."

He kept his answer simple. He didn't really have much more to say to her regarding the mess she had already made of things. She took it, and hesitated for a long moment before she straightened her posture and put her shoulders back, eyes dropping away from his as she tapped her ashes.

"I'm not going to do anything -" she paused, as if she had to steel herself, "- further to put your men or myself in more danger."

She was clearly waiting for a lecture, watching him with careful eyes, bracing for his comeback. But it was pointless. She already knew what he had to say. And frankly, he didn't have the energy to say it with feeling.

She didn't continue. When he didn't speak, she turned her eyes back towards the ocean. She was thinking something, carefully considering her words. Maybe even trying to figure out if anything should be said at the moment.

"You know the general thinks Weibel is CIA, right?" she finally asked.

"The general thinks every American is CIA. He's paranoid."

"Extremely."

He let that thought turn over and over in his mind a few times. There was probably a way to use that to their advantage.

"Being a professor doesn't help Weibel's case. It's an easy cover."

Hannibal barely heard her. He was deep in thought. Amderiz's fear of the CIA was certainly exploitable. It would take a little fancy footwork, but they could make him believe damn near whatever they chose in that regard. Paranoia was very easily exploitable. The problem was, whatever they did put Weibel in greater danger. And that was a risk he wasn't willing to take.

"We need to get him out of there. In and out fast. Any move we make on Amderiz puts him in danger."

Suzanne was quiet for a long moment, finishing her cigarette before she finally crushed it out and asked quietly, "Is there a chance Weibel _is_ CIA?"

"If he is, it doesn't change anything." Hannibal glanced at her, brows raised. "Besides, why the hell are you asking _me _that? You know more about how the Agency works than I do."

"Well, if what he was doing was important enough, they would have sent someone to replace him." She shook her head. "I haven't heard of anything opening up in this region for a while."

Hannibal looked away. It really didn't make a damn bit of difference to him if Weibel was working for someone or not.

"So Amderiz is either small time, which given the setup I saw and the location of the island - within missile strike of US territories - is doubtful, or he has somehow managed to keep whatever he's doing off of the CIA's radar."

Not Hannibal's problem. But it was an interesting assessment.

"He may be crazy, but he's smart, he will be expecting you to do something."

Hannibal smirked. "Of course he will. I'm counting on it. Besides, that's what makes it fun."

There was a slight hesitation from her. Then, a smile. "I thought explosions were where you got your fun."

"Preferably ones that catch people off guard who think they're ready for anything."

He didn't give her a chance to respond before he turned and headed back inside.

"Get a good night's sleep, Suzy. You may need it."

As he closed the door behind him, he gave a quick glance at the clock before heading back to bed. Tomorrow was going to be a long day.


	18. Chapter Seventeen

**CHAPTER SEVENTEEN**

Spread across the dining room table was a large map of the island of Dorada. Leaning over that map was a man Suzanne had pursued from one hemisphere to the other. And if he had any thoughts whatsoever concerning her presence, he didn't make them known.

"There are at least four armed guards outside of this outbuilding on the northeast corner of the property. Most likely, that's where Amderiz has Weibel."

Any thoughts he had about her at _all _seemed to have vanished sometime during the night. Murdock had said he didn't hold a grudge, but she had to admit that she was surprised by the complete disregard he had for her this morning. It wasn't offensive. In fact, it was fascinating. She'd never seen this side of him before - a commanding officer laying out the mission.

"There's guards at the gate, and around the perimeter. If we go in through the front, it's going to be very difficult to do it quietly."

"What about _not _quietly?" Murdock asked. But that carefree, joking tone he'd had in everything he'd said so far was gone. He, too, was all business.

"Too many variables. We know who has him and where, but unless we know what Amderiz is planning and why he needs an art historian to get it, we have no guarantee that he won't just kill Weibel if he knows there's a rescue attempt."

"Whatever it is he wants," Face continued, his voice just as business-like, "he was more than willing to torture and kill to get it. We have no good explanation for why Weibel is alive if he truly thinks he's CIA."

"What if he ain't alive?" BA asked.

"Then why guard him?"

Suzanne watched with quiet interest. All of them were like completely different people. There was no joking, no laughing, no banter or smiling. There was no argument or dissent. She'd been in on her share of briefings before. But watching these same men - watching Hannibal, who took insane risks just for the sheer amusement of it - lock down and talk business was fascinating. In all of the pranks he'd pulled and stunts he'd performed, she'd almost forgotten that he'd been an Army colonel once - one who had served in a war, in life and death situations.

"We could see about getting someone on the inside," Murdock suggested.

"I thought of that. But he's seen all of us, and a disguise is too risky. We still don't know what Amderiz wants with Weibel. That means we don't know how delicate the situation is, and how expendable the general considers him."

Face perched on the back of a chair at the table, leaning his elbows on his knees as he studied the map. "What is Weibel _worth_, exactly?"

The way he'd said it made it sound almost like a rhetorical question, but Hannibal answered anyways. "There's been no ransom of any kind..."

"No, I mean why is he valuable? What can he do that no one else can?"

"Claim American citizenship?" Murdock suggested.

Hannibal shook his head. "No ransom."

"He's authenticating artifacts for the museum," Face continued. "He's a reputable name. If he says it's authentic, it's authentic."

Hannibal hesitated. "What are you getting at?"

"I'm just thinking," Face stood and paced a few steps, "how could Amderiz use that? Let's say he needed some items sealed with a reputable stamp of approval..."

Face trailed off, not following his theory any further.

"Faceman, this is the guy who thinks Weibel's workin' for the CIA, remember?" Murdock paused for a moment. "Which, come to think of it, rumor was that the CIA was involved in the coup that put the current president in power."

He turned and smiled at Suzanne.

"You got information you can share with the group?"

She was startled for just a fraction of a second as all eyes turned to her. There was no accusation in his tone, more like an invitation. But they definitely put a spotlight on her, and on information they hadn't asked her for until now. She took a deep breath and put her shoulders back, pulling up her own businesslike tone.

"The CIA worked for years to bring down the old pro-communist regime here. I wasn't involved with it and I don't know much about it. But I do know the current president's hold is still tenuous at best and the US has a vested interest in keeping the island under the control of a pro-American government."

"How vested?" Face asked flatly.

"That I couldn't tell you. If Weibel had any kind of CIA involvement, I know nothing about it."

"Not what I'm asking." Face paused just briefly. "There's a madman threatening a revolution who's got this entire half of the island scared of him. Where's your co-workers?"

That spotlight was growing hotter and hotter.

"I don't know about other agents. We don't exactly get together for company Christmas parties, and I wasn't personally involved in any of the operations."

"What assistance would you get in tracking them down, given the circumstances?"

She shook her head. "None. Not even an option."

Murdock stepped forward. "You're gonna tell me that you know your agency is working here, and you can't do a damn thing to help us?"

She frowned. "Like I said. We don't exactly exchange birthday gifts. Or _names_, for that matter. Your Weibel could be with the CIA for all I know."

"Enough," Hannibal said firmly. "Next?"

And just like that, the spotlight was gone. She was almost shocked by the abruptness, and the way they instantly shifted gears. She'd been dismissed, as if she was suddenly inconsequential. But her mind was still racing, Murdock's words ringing in her ears. She _should _have resources. She _should _be able to do something to help. But even if she hadn't been risking getting burned by coming here when she was on leave, what could she really do?

"I still think we need to get somebody on the inside. Or get somebody _from _the inside."

"How?"

"Bribe?"

She was running through the list of names and faces of agents and assets she knew, cross referencing them with what she knew of this place. She'd never been to Dorada before. But she'd been in neighboring countries. Most of her work, in fact, had been in neighboring countries. She knew of several assets who had come here, several people she'd known, who would talk to her. But finding them - even knowing for certain that they were here - would be impossible.

Until the cross referenced lists suddenly matched up.

"I may know somebody we can talk to."

She only realized after she'd spoken, that she was interrupting. Lost in her own thoughts, she'd completely lost track of the conversation. All eyes were on her again as she stammered.

"I mean, if he's alive and if I can find him where I think I can. I don't know how much he'd be able to tell us or about _what_, but I know he keeps his ear to the ground."

"Who is he?" Hannibal demanded.

"He's an informant I dealt with on one of my assignments in Uruguay. Right before we came in, I got him out. If I had to guess, we'll find him by the docks."

"And what is it you think he'll be able to tell us?"

"I told you, I don't know. But he's usually got a good supply of information readily available. Keeps him out of trouble and lets him run his drug operation nice and smooth. It's also possible - not likely, but possible - that he may be able to put me in touch with a 'co-worker', as you said, who could give me more information about what's going on here."

Hannibal raised a brow. In the long silence that followed, she stood still and unflinching, waiting for the verdict. Finally, he looked at Face. "Go with her. Talk to her contact."

From the way he said it, dismissive and disinterested, it was clear that he was looking for a way to get rid of her. Like a parent humoring a child by admiring their finger painting, just so they would stop nagging for the attention. It was insulting, and her reaction came instantly, without thought.

"I don't need an escort," she said firmly, shoulders back and head held high.

Hannibal laughed briefly, cynically. "Like hell you don't."

"He'll be less likely to -"

"You're not going alone," Hannibal interrupted her. There was no room in his voice for argument. "We all know what happened _last _time you were in town on your own. Either Face is going with you, or you can go on your own and not come back."

She crossed her arms over her chest, standing tall as she raised a brow. "So if I uncover information, you wouldn't _want _it?"

"No," he said firmly. "If I can't trust you to follow orders, what the hell makes you think I'd trust your information?"

She hesitated for a moment, not sure what to say to that but not willing to back down. It wasn't that she actually thought it was a good idea to go wandering alone down at the docks. In fact, that would be a very stupid thing to do. But something about the way the decision was made, with no regard for her opinion or input on the matter, made her hackles rise.

"Fine," she finally answered. "The docks are dangerous enough. No reason to tempt fate."

Hannibal didn't even bother to answer her. Instead, he turned to Murdock and BA, fixing them both in his gaze. "I want you two to go back and talk to Ramon. See if he's willing to offer up any more information."

"Will do, Colonel."

"He's been surprisingly accommodating so far. Find out what he wants in return."

As Face stood, smiling at Suzanne, she looked him up and down. He had forgone the three piece suit, but he still looked like he'd just stepped off the pages of a fashion magazine. "Do you have any clothes that are less... nice?"

He stared at her, as if confused by the concept.

"You're going to stand out if you go looking like that. We have to make there without getting jumped for your thousand dollar watch, or handmade Italian loafers."

Murdock laughed. Even BA snickered at the look Face gave her. Finally, after a long moment of silence, he turned and smiled widely at Hannibal.

"Seeing as how I need to cater to the fine art of negotiating, I'd prefer not to need a wardrobe change with this excursion."

His smile only got more charming as Hannibal smirked at him. "Is that your way of saying you can't handle it on your own, Lieutenant?"

There was no lack of confidence in Face's posture, or his tone. "Poke fun all you want. But I don't plan on sporting a black eye for the next two weeks."

"You can borrow one of my t-shirts if you want, Face," Murdock offered, still grinning with amusement.

Face scowled. It suddenly occurred to Suzanne to wonder if he even _had _regular clothes. Surely he wouldn't have come here without a single outfit he could get dirty and grimy in...

"Alright, I'll go with the two of you just in case things turn ugly," Hannibal said. "We meet back here in three hours. Anyone not here a half hour after that, we assume there's a problem."

And just like that, the briefing was over. Suzanne watched in silence as they dispersed, and Hannibal rolled up the map silently. There was no thought to it, no emotion or concern that someone might not fulfill their part of the mission. This was his team, his show, and he knew how to run it. In spite of herself, she felt a slight smile cross her lips. As irritating as that confidence was sometimes, and as much as she hated it when he used it to fuel that patronizing tone, it sure was fascinating to watch from this angle.


	19. Chapter Eighteen

**CHAPTER EIGHTEEN**

There was something inherently seedy about the dock in Dorada. Not that Face was surprised by that. He had been to enough docks in various parts of the world to know that any place with that many products and people from different countries was ripe for a thriving trade in the black market. Hell, he counted on it. Nine times out of ten, it was the fastest, easiest way to procure weapons if they had somehow failed to bring theirs, or ammunition if they ran out.

His sense where on high alert, despite the relaxed body language and casual clothes. There was no T-shirt of Murdock's he would be caught dead wearing, and had ultimately ended up wearing his jeans with one of Hannibal's beige shirts, half buttoned and untucked. He looked sufficiently "grimy." Nobody paid him any heed, which was good. He would've noticed if they had. In this sort of place, vigilance meant survival. Anything short of complete awareness was dangerous.

Keeping pace beside him, Suzanne was walking with her head high and her eyes on her surroundings. In fact the longer they walked - a little too aimlessly, Face thought - the more she seemed to exude confidence and energy. Having her weapon back probably helped, as well as having something to do, a goal to achieve. He just hoped she had a clue what she was doing, and this guy she was looking for was actually here somewhere. People were already starting to notice that they didn't seem to have a particular destination.

"Sure hope you know where you're going," Face said as quietly as he could.

"I don't," she answered plainly. "But I know who I'm looking for."

"Great. That's... very encouraging."

Her steps slowed as they approached a small warehouse at the end of the dock. Sitting in front of the open metal doors, in a chair behind a small folding table was a large man, flanked by two even larger men leaning against one of several large stacks of cargo boxes. Great. Lots of places for people to hide.

"Why are we slowing down?"

"That's him," she said, putting her hand on his arm and nodding her head just slightly towards the man at the table. "Mingo."

Oh, perfect. Right in the middle of the most dangerous spot they'd passed yet. Face sighed inwardly. He would just have to trust that Hannibal found a good vantage point to cover them from.

As they came closer, the two leaning men stood a little straighter, watching Face and Suzanne with hard, cold eyes. They stepped forward, pulling their jackets back just enough to show off their pistols as the two intruders approached.

"Let me handle this," Suzanne said quietly.

Face had every intention of it, mostly because she spoke their language and he didn't. That was always helpful when trying to negotiate a way out of being shot. Of course, it was also unnerving to the portion of the receiving party who _didn't _speak the language. Face kept his shoulders back and smiled politely as she stepped forward and spoke to them. Face understood none of it except for the "hello" she offered to Mingo.

The lack of intelligible words had Face studying body language of everyone around him that much more intently. They wouldn't know it; he was careful not to make it obvious. But the moment there was any tension or hostility, he'd be more than aware and ready to act if need be.

The man eyed her up and down, gesturing for the two guards to stand aside, but he didn't stand as he addressed her again in Spanish. Whatever he said made her chuckle.

"Those rumors were exaggerated, as you can see. And please, speak in English." She inclined her head towards Face. "For the sake of my partner, Mr. White."

The man turned his wary, distrustful gaze to Face, then back to her. "Okay. So you are going to answer my question? Why you here?"

"So impatient." She sighed softly, not bothered in the least by his tone. Her own voice was comfortable. Flirty, even. "I'm here for the same reason as everyone who comes to see you Mingo. Information."

The wary stare continued for a moment. Then, finally, Mingo gave her a very fake, half-toothless smile. "What kind of information you are looking for? Always I am glad to help my American friends."

Her smile was a little wider as she looked over at his guards. "I'm not sure this is the type of information you'll want to share with an audience. Maybe you could give your boys here a quarter to go play at the end of the dock."

Mingo hesitated just a beat, then nodded, glancing to one side and then the other at the men standing nearby. "_Va. Dame un momento con mi amiga bonita._"

Suzanne laughed softly. "And here I thought you would never notice."

Face looked around. Even with the men gone, the area wasn't secure. And Mingo had far more control over who was around them than he did. "Actually, as nice this place is - and don't get me wrong, it is nice, very tasteful, good atmosphere - but I'm not sure it's the 'information exchange' setting we're looking for."

Mingo stared at Face as the men backed away obediently.

"We are talking here," he said. His gaze made it clear that he was entirely distrustful of this newcomer. "It is a good place for talking, no?"

It wasn't really a question, however friendly it sounded. Face knew it, and he smiled back. "No, no. It's a great place."

It had been worth a try. And besides, there was something to be said for letting this guy think he'd just denied Face something he wanted. Let him feel like he was in control, like Face wasn't going to stand up or fight him. It would give Mingo a sense of security, and loosen his tongue.

Suzanne laughed again, light and confident. "You'll have to forgive my partner. He is the overprotective type."

"I am believing you," Mingo answered, turning his attention back to Suzanne. "What you want?"

She smiled, but her expression was as serious as her tone as she spoke. "Amderiz."

"What about him?"

"What do you know about him?" Face asked.

Mingo turned his eyes to Face and looked him up and down, raking him more carefully, head to toe. Then he looked back at Suzanne.

"I am liking this one better than the last. He is much prettier, no?"

Suzanne's smile was amused. "Didn't you say I was the pretty one? Tsk tsk, Mingo. It's not nice to play with my heart like that."

Face smirked at the exchange. If "pretty" was as bad as this guy was going to get, he could live with that. How many times had Suzanne used this guy for information, anyway? And on whom? Maybe more importantly, where were they now?

"But pleasantries aside, Mingo, we are here for information."

"What information you are needing?"

At least nobody could say that she didn't enjoy the gritty aspects of her job. In fact, more than anything, she seemed to be feeding off of this in an oddly familiar way. She leaned forward slightly and dropped her voice a notch as she answered.

"I was hoping you could tell me why the general would feel the need to kidnap an art historian."

Mingo's pleasant smile fell. "You are asking dangerous questions, Anna. The kind of questions are being able to get me killed. That is big risk for me."

"True. Almost as big of a risk as getting caught with a shipment of stolen military weapons, hmm?"

Now this was starting to get interesting.

"I repay my debt a long time ago."

"Not by my accounting. Especially not when you still have so many people looking for you. People with less that your best interest at heart."

Face watched, his interest and his alertness piqued. The amount of danger they were in right now depended entirely on how Mingo reacted to her implied threat. For her part, Suzanne really seemed to be enjoying this.

"It's practically a full time job for me to keep them from finding you. I know your Russian friends are _very _interested in your health and wellbeing. Not to mention the Chinese."

Mingo stared back at her, his eyes cold in spite of the amused smile. "You are coming to my house and threatening me?" He ticked his tongue on his teeth, shaking his head. "You should know better, Anna. I am thinking you are smarter than that."

"Just a statement of facts, Mingo."

He reclined as comfortably as possible in the rickety chair, eyeing her. It took several long moments of silence before he finally spoke, in a calm and almost conversational tone.

"General Amderiz is not a friend of Americans. He is not a friend of Presidente Muero either. Government is... how would you say? Unhappy? It is bad. Amderiz not is being able to remove _el presidente_, or it will be worse. But the general has plans."

Mingo reached for his pack of cigarettes and carefully tapped one out, then set it between his lips, eyeing her. He was waiting for her to prod. After a moment, she gave him the encouragement he was looking for.

"What sort of plans?"

Mingo lowered his eyes to his lighter, flicking it a few times before it caught, and he blew a stream of smoke into the air.

"He will be starting a revolution. He is having many who will follow. No more President Muero. No more unhappy American government."

"What does the revolution have to do with an art historian?"

Mingo shrugged, as if disinterested. "That, I am not knowing."

Face frowned at that. "Well, kidnapping him is certainly drawing a lot of attention to his activities. Not the best way to overthrow a government."

Mingo laughed. "Whose attention? Yours?" He sneered at Face. "There is no one here who will stop his revolution."

"Where is he keeping Mr. Weibel?"

Suzanne already knew the answer to that. It was a trick question, a lie detector test.

"I am not knowing a Mr. Weibel. Who is he?"

A lie detector test that Mingo failed.

"He's the missing art historian." Her eyes narrowed into slits. "Information is your bread and butter, but you don't know the name of the missing American who the General warned everyone not to talk about? Not like you to be so lax."

"Oh, that Mr. Weibel." He shrugged as he finally took his eyes off of Face and looked back at Suzanne. "He is keeping him at his home. It is the safest place, really."

Suzanne was smiling like a cat toying with a canary. "What's the general's house like Mingo? Why is it so safe?"

"Because the general is living there."

It seemed like a simple enough answer. Mingo eyed her as he hesitated for a long moment. "I could be arranging a meeting for you."

"We've already met," Suzanne answered. "And I don't think I care much for him."

Movement. Threat. Face couldn't see it, couldn't hear it, but he knew it instinctively. Something in the way Mingo's voice changed, or the slight shift in position. The scent of people nearby - closer than before.

"I am thinking he would be very interested in meeting both of you."

Mingo had only to snap his fingers, and there appeared from seemingly every direction gritty men with an assortment of handguns. None of them looked like they might hesitate to use the weapon in their hands. Drawing on them would've been futile at best, and would've probably gotten some of those guns pointed in Face and Suzy's direction.

"If you are not minding," Mingo said politely, "you will be putting your hands up now, please."

Face smiled, raising his hands slightly in a token gesture. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Suzanne do the same. "What a shame, Mingo. We were having such a lovely talk."

"You will be forgiving me, Anna. But the general is more of a threat to me now than you."

"You would think so."

"You know, Mingo," Face said casually, "this kind of shady dealing is frowned upon."

"It is a good thing that I will not be needing to deal with you in the future."

Suzanne grinned. "Don't think so?"

The rattle of gunfire - Hannibal was closer than he'd thought - and the sudden hailstorm of bullets raining down on them startled the hell out of every man present. As they frantically scrambled back to cover, trying to figure out what direction the shooting was coming from, all of Mingo's "guards" were suddenly no longer guarding him. Startled - no, more like panicked - Mingo's head swiveled back and forth, still trying to locate the shooter. All of them reacted instinctively, focused on self preservation.

Face didn't hesitate. He'd known before the shooting started exactly what route he'd be taking to grab Mingo. He had his gun drawn and was behind the man, pulling him up from his chair in an instant.

"Tell them to stand down," he growled.

The shots stopped as soon as Face had Mingo. Hannibal would have to move. Fast. One bullet, it was impossible to tell where it was coming from. Two, and any enemy could pinpoint the gun. A barrage of them, and he was a sitting duck. He'd relocate fast.

Mingo called out in Spanish to the men who were gathering their wits, shooting in the general direction the shots had come from, racing to investigate. There were only a few who seemed to have any interest in Mingo, or his shouted order, and Suzanne's pistol was trained on them.

Face shoved Mingo forward, turning and backing up so that his back was against Suzy's, gun still right up against the side of Mingo's neck. He took in everything around him. No telling where the next threat was going to come from or how many more men this guy had stashed. Suzanne fired a few rounds, but no one returned. Now was as good a time as any to move.

They only took a few shots on the way to the car. Hannibal's cover fire ensured that there would be no real threat. Opening the back door, Suzanne slid over and turned her gun toward Mingo as Face shoved him in. Then he slipped into the driver's seat. It was a quick trip to where Hannibal would be. He slowed just enough to give him a chance to get in before speeding away from the docks.


	20. Chapter Nineteen

**CHAPTER NINETEEN**

"I am pleased to see you."

Ramon certainly looked pleased. Maybe a little too pleased.

"Why you so happy to see us?" BA demanded.

"Why, BA! Look at this painting! Isn't it simply -"

"Shut up, Murdock!"

Esther was back.

"You know, young man, it is not very polite to -"

"I said shut up!"

How come Murdock didn't know that talking to an art smuggler was not a good time to start acting a fool?

"You know, I don't think we were ever properly introduced." Murdock's voice was back to normal now as he held out a hand in greeting to Ramon, who was staring at him like he didn't know what to do. "My name is Howling Mad Murdock."

"I see," Ramon answered carefully as he accepted the handshake with a tight smile. As he turned back to BA, the smile became more genuine.

"I was hoping you would find a way to evade General Amderiz," he said. "And just today, I was hoping you might come back. I have something that may be of interest to you."

"Yeah? What's that?"

Ramon stepped behind his desk. BA's hand drifted instinctively to his pistol as the man opened a drawer and pulled out a little piece of clay. He set it on the table and smiled like a cat that just brought its prize catch for the others to see. Confused, BA stared.

"What is it?"

"That was precisely what I was wondering!"

Murdock and BA exchanged glances. For once, they were both at a loss.

"The art form is unlike any of the other primitive pieces I have so far seen from this island but have been unable to acquire and then I saw it."

BA still had nothing. Ramon had enough excitement for all three of them.

"Saw what?"

"The certificate of authenticity on this piece bears the name of David Weibel." Ramon looked back and forth between the two of them, as if that explained everything. "He is the art historian you're searching for!"

"So, wait a minute." Murdock held his hand to his forehead as he tried to make sense of this. "He's authenticating unusual pieces of art and they're going up for sale and somehow getting to you?"

"Not somehow," Ramon corrected. "This piece, among others, came to me by a courier from General Amderiz. He wants them sold. And even if every one of these pieces is a fake, a forgery, bearing Weibel's seal of authenticity, they will fetch him a fortune."

BA frowned deeply. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate the information; he did. He just didn't trust the way that Ramon made it all so easy.

Ramon's eyes darkened. His smile fell as he put the little clay whatever-it-was on the desk again. BA couldn't tell if it was supposed to be a cup or a jar or maybe a really deformed bowl.

"Amderiz wants a war," Ramon said quietly. "He wants a revolution. I do not have to tell you how difficult life would become here if he gets his wish. My business is thriving for the first time in many years. I do not care who is in power - be it a communist government or a democratic one. I care only for my own livelihood. And Amderiz is a great threat to that."

Once again, BA and Murdock exchanged glances. But this time, they were all on the same page. They had the answers they'd come for. Now it was just a question of what to do with them.

*X*X*X*

It was a few miles from the dock to the abandoned house Hannibal had seen off the road. It wasn't ideal but it would more than served their purpose. They wouldn't need it for very long - just long enough to get the answers they needed out of Mingo.

Face pulled the car around the back, hidden from the view of the road. As they got out, he and Suzanne did a quick sweep of the area as Hannibal did the honors of dragging, pushing and generally manhandling Mingo in to the house. As soon as they were inside, he found the nearest place to sit him down - a heavy, sturdy, wood chair that was waiting in the center of what was left of the kitchen. Right on cue, Face was tying him to the chair. Suzy held her gun on Mingo, a definite smirk on her face. She was enjoying this. Grinning, Hannibal watched while he pulled a cigar out of his pocket.

Face finished with the knots, and took a step back, looking the frightened man up and down. "You're right, Mingo, this is a much better alternative to a friendly conversation on _your _turf."

"Mingo, huh?" Hannibal didn't bother looking at him as he lit his cigar. "Pleasure to meet your acquaintance. I hear you're the man to talk to if I want the story on one particularly unfriendly general."

Mingo's wide eyes darted back and forth. Grinning at the unease, Hannibal snapped his lighter closed and dropped it back in his pocket before he continued. "My friends here were hoping for the friendly and professional approach. I told 'em it wouldn't work. But they just didn't want to have to kill you."

He shrugged, nonchalant, as if the thought of killing him provided a minor inconvenience at best. If it was possible, Mingo's eyes got even wider.

"For the record," Suzanne said, "I've changed my mind about killing him."

"You know, the last guy, we just shot him," Face continued. "I think we should mix it up a bit. Something with more... flair."

Hannibal smiled back at him. "I've always been a fan of the tried and true decapitation. And if you _really _make me angry, it'll be a very slow decapitation."

Face nodded, entirely comfortable and nonchalant about the discussion. It was as if they discussed methods of execution at least once a day.

"I'm sure there's something left over in the kitchen drawers that would be useful."

Suzanne moved behind Mingo, gun still in hand, leaning against the remains of the counter. She was watching both the man and the door. His eyes were darting between all of them. Hannibal could see the wheels in his head turning. Mingo hadn't survived as long as he had in a dangerous business by being stupid. He knew the best way to talk himself out of these kind of situations. Hannibal was counting on it.

"There is no needing for that, Senor. I was not wanting to cause your friends here any trouble."

"Could've fooled me."

"But the general, he is very powerful. He is saying, I help him. I am saying, I am having no choice."

"I'm sure he is plenty powerful. But once I'm done with you, I have every intention of meeting with him next. Maybe I'll take him a token of your appreciation for the protection he granted you? An ear, maybe?"

"Good idea!" Face exclaimed.

As Face began to look in the drawers, Mingo turned to look at Suzanne. "Anna, you know me. Please you telling them I would not have willing betrayed you."

Suzanne just smiled.

Face took the time to raise a few instruments up to plain view for consideration. Butcher knife - too sharp, and appropriate really. Wooden salad tongs - that was just humorous. Potato peeler - now that would really hurt.

"This, looks interesting, don't you think?" He pushed his thumb over it for show, "oh, still sharp, too. But not too sharp."

"No, wait wait!" It was a plea and a barter. "I am knowing things being very valuable to you!"

"Such as?"

He thought quickly. "I have been to the general's house. I am knowing where things are. Like the safe."

"What good is that without the combination?"

"Ah, but I am knowing that too! It is the same as the security code for the gate."

"Huh." Face seemed pleased with that. "Maybe this guy could be useful after all."

"Yes, yes." Mingo nodded enthusiastically. "Very useful."

"And what's the security code for the gate?" Hannibal asked.

"That I am not knowing. It is changing every few days."

"Well, what good does that do us?"

Mingo fidgeted, anxious. He was scrambling for something useful, and not finding anything he thought Hannibal wanted.

"How well do you know General Amderiz?" Face prodded.

"I have done some business for him. I was getting for him more weapons that the presidente would not approve."

"Weapons for his little revolution, no doubt."

"I am not knowing what he is wanting weapons for. I am only doing business."

"So you've been to his compound."

"Oh, yes. Several times."

"And his house?"

"Yes, yes."

"That would mean you know something of the layout."

Mingo nodded enthusiastically, eyes darting. "Yes, yes. I am able to tell you all about the general's house. What you are wanting to know? There is no needing for Mr. White to be using that."

He gave nervous, half-toothless smile to Hannibal as Face toyed with the potato peeler.

"If General Amderiz happened to have documentation of his imports and exports, where might he keep it?"

"He is keeping in his office. In his home. In the safe that I mentioned."

"And where is his office?"

"In his house."

Hannibal didn't have to feign this impatience. "Layout, Mingo. Where's it located?"

"It is in through the front door and up the stairs. The stairs are as soon as you are going in, on the left. The office is the first door on the right." He swallowed hard. "His office is where he is doing business. It is where he is feeling most safe, yes."

"And there is a safe in that office?"

The opening door made them all turn, weapons drawn, just in time to see Murdock step through.

"Sorry to come barging in like this, dearies, but I was in desperate need of a cup of sugar and I-"

"Murdock, if you don't shut up, I'm gonna shut you up!"

"My, my, no need for such violence. I was just wondering what -" Esther cut off suddenly, taking stock of the situation. "Oh, dear. What have we here?"

Hannibal tucked his weapon into the back of his jeans again. "What did you guys find?"

"Amderiz wanna start a war," BA said. "He know it's gonna cost a lot of money, so he got Weibel sayin' fake artifacts is real."

Hannibal turned slowly to Mingo. "Well, now you wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

"This is not being my business! I am shipping guns, even drugs. I am not shipping fake artifacts! You want to be talking to friend of mine. Ramon Escobar, yes."

"Yes," Hannibal answered. "Ramon is a friend of ours, too. And I'm sure he'd be very interested to know how quickly you dropped his name."

Mingo's face fell.

"Our government has a vested interest in keeping the current president in power," Suzanne said. "That's probably why Amderiz is so paranoid about the CIA."

"How much power does Amderiz really have?" Hannibal asked, staring directly at Mingo. "He's a general in a very small army. If he wants to assassinate the president, he probably doesn't have to go through too much effort."

"We are not talking about these things." Mingo shook his head. "What the general is saying to me, he is wanting guns. More guns. I am saying okay. That is all."

"It stands to reason the president is aware the general can't be trusted," Suzanne said. "But the new government is too fragile to risk going after him without hard proof he is planning treason. If we can get proof to him... one of the fraudulent artifacts, maybe. I'm sure he'd be willing to help us get Weibel out of there and -"

"Not a chance," Hannibal said firmly. "For one thing, by the time they mobilize, Weibel will be dead. For another, he's a pawn. I don't want him getting lost in the confusion."

She glared at him. "Well, I don't know about you, but I'm not content to simply rescue the art historian when there's a bloody revolution being planned here."

Hannibal smiled at her. "That, Suzy, is because of who you work for."

"It's Suzanne," she corrected, fists moving to her hips.

"I, on the other hand, work for myself, as does everyone else here. If you want to get points with your bosses, you go right ahead. But you do it on your own time, not mine."

She stared at him, jaw dropped. "Points with my bosses? Just what is it you think I have to-"

The sound of the wooden door cracking cut her off. Immediately, Hannibal reached for his weapon. He processed everything instantly. Two men, wearing the uniform of the general's personal guard, guns. Then two rapid, loud shots. In gray light coming through the dingy windows, Hannibal watched the men fall. The men were dead, and no others seemed to be coming in after them.

Ears ringing from the sound of the shots in a small room, he cast a look over his shoulder. Suzanne was lowering her gun, a faint trail of smoke wafting of the barrel. Hannibal didn't waste time with words - just a quick glance to Face and a nod towards the window. BA and Murdock moved into place as well, checking the perimeter. Hannibal stepped closer to the open door, peering out carefully.

An empty car, no signs of movement. Has the two uniformed officers had come alone?

"All clear, Hannibal."

"Clear."

"Clear."

"Their reinforcements won't be far behind."

Suzanne moved quickly and silently to the men on the ground, a nudge with her foot to kick their weapons out of reach. It got no reaction. No reaction meant no threat. "Do you need their guns?"

"No. Leave them."

"They sure do move fast," Murdock said, keeping his pistol in hand.

"And we need to get out of here before their backup shows."

Suzanne left the bodies where they were and walked over to Mingo, pointing her gun at him as she asked with all seriousness, "Should I kill him too?"

Hannibal was already standing in the door as Face moved past him, to the car. BA and Murdock weren't far behind.

"Leave him," Hannibal ordered, holding out an arm to guide her. "Come on."

He waited for her, and set his hand lightly on the small of her back as he stepped with her out of the house, leaving Mingo tied to the chair inside. He stepped over the body of the man blocking the door, not quite able to hold back a smile as he whispered a quiet, "Nice shot," under his breath to Suzanne.


	21. Chapter Twenty

**CHAPTER TWENTY**

"Move out quickly," Hannibal ordered as he stepped through the door of the resort-like house. "I want to be on the road in ten minutes. Murdock, do all your pre-flight on that plane and make sure it's ready to roll."

"Plane?" BA cried. "I ain't goin' on no plane!"

Hannibal ignored him entirely, continuing in that same commanding tone. "I'm going to assume that we'll be coming in hot and I want to be in the air within two minutes of reaching this property."

"What!"  
Face and Murdock had already disappeared down the hallway. Murdock was back only seconds later, bounding out the side door and heading for the aforementioned plane without a word.

"What about Weibel?" Suzanne asked.

She was trying, for all intents and purposes, to stay out of the way as Hannibal loaded weapons onto the table and checked them quickly. He didn't even look at her.

"What about him?"

"I'll need to get him to the president in order to -"

"I told you, that's not my problem."

She stared, momentarily dumbfounded. He didn't give her a chance to find words before he was handing her a loaded AK-47.

"Besides, when I'm done with him, Amderiz will have bigger problems than a failed revolution. You know how to use that?"

"I... yes. But -"

"Face!"

He was already on to the next point, taking her word at face value. It suddenly occurred to her just how much shit she would be in if she had just answered without actually thinking about her ability to use this weapon.

"Colonel?" Face was in the mouth of the hallway, slipping his arms into his shoulder holster.

"Make sure you bring water. It's going to get damn hot out there."

"Yep."

"BA, I trust you're keeping track of that C-4?"

"What do you mean, in the air, Hannibal?" BA demanded. "I ain't goin' on no plane."

Hannibal seemed to accept BA's answer as a confident "yes" as he moved right along to the next thing. It suddenly occurred to her that he wasn't really listening at all, to any of them. He was completely focused on his goal. And maybe even more significantly, he seemed completely sure that he knew the answer to every question before he asked it.

She'd heard - and read - stories about his confidence and determination. In every way that she had ever seen it with her own eyes, it only made him an arrogant, frustrating, patronizing bastard. But that wasn't what she saw right now. Watching him move, listening to him gather and focus his team, she suddenly wondered for whose benefit he was actually speaking. Nothing was really being said. Orders were given, but they were carried out as fast as he could say them - as if they all knew their place, their task, their function. She had never in her life seen such a well oiled machine.

They were on the road in nine minutes. She'd been counting. Apparently they hadn't. No one acknowledged the time. Hannibal didn't bother speaking now, just pointed. Face, Murdock, in that vehicle; she and BA in the other with him. Then they were driving, heading towards Amderiz's compound. Just that simple, just that efficient. And somehow, she just couldn't stop herself from staring at him in amazement.

*X*X*X*

The adrenaline was starting to build. The anticipation and excitement. Hannibal could feel it in his blood, in his bones. In every fiber of his being. He was ready. Dorada was hot and humid and miserable, and he had a score to settle with this general before he went home.

He was focused. This would be a quick sweep. Quick survey of the area, check their entrance and exit points, pin down their greatest threat, and then Face and Murdock could focus on Weibel while BA and Hannibal retained the attention of the general. And Suzy... well, she'd come with him. He could use the backup and so far, she had proven herself pretty capable with a weapon. He also didn't want her pulling anything that _wasn't _in the plan out of her hat in a misguided attempt at helping.

He had no doubt that she was also working out another way to get what she wanted - namely Weibel left in her care so that she could work her Agency magic and bring this revolution to a screeching halt. That wasn't going to happen. In that sense, Hannibal didn't trust her as far as he could throw her. But she was still biding her time, trying to find the right angle.

One glance in her direction and he could see the same thrill building in her. It wasn't just the fact that she owed Amderiz. And she wasn't just doing her job, either. No, the gleam in her eyes, the focused energy... Little Suzy was on the jazz. He grinned at that, cigar clamped between his teeth as he pulled his gloves over his hands.

"Getting to Weibel shouldn't be too hard. The trick is going to be getting him out as quietly as possible."

BA raised a brow. "Quiet?"

"I want him out of the line of fire before we move on Amderiz."

"How do you propose to do that?" Suzanne asked.

"Well, it means we'll need a distraction while Face and Murdock get him out." Hannibal smiled as he glanced first at her, then at BA. "It should be hard to hear their quiet escape over the explosions."

BA nodded in understanding. But Suzanne wasn't as pleased with the plan. "If you were really going for a quiet retreat, then I can't imagine why you are making things more complicated and noisy by refusing to consider getting Weibel and the evidence to the president."

"You missed the part about the explosions."

For all her attempts at calm, unaffected composure, he could still feel the quiet challenge as she raised a brow at him.

"Do you have something in mind to stop Amderiz before he throws the island into a bloody revolution?"

"Revolution?" Hannibal chuckled. "He'll be too busy picking up the pieces of his estate."

"Ah, so attacking a general in broad daylight and bombing an elite military facility without any explanation -"

"His private home hardly constitutes as an elite military facility."

"Whatever." Her frustration was growing. "You do realize that if the president finds out it was Americans who attacked Amderiz before he finds out about the general's plans for war, it will have major repercussions on the US's relationship with a country that's within ICM strike range?"

"Not my problem."

"And if he thinks it was a local splinter group, it will lead to more bloodshed when he is forced to assume there is yet another revolution happening and bonds _with _Amderiz until he discovers that -"

"Again," Hannibal interrupted, flashing her a broad smile, over his shoulder. "Not my problem."

Her jaw muscle twitched and her arms crossed over her chest as she tried - and failed - to keep herself contained. "That's right, silly me. I forgot. Why should the great and mighty Hannibal Smith give a damn about what happens to some dirt farmers in the middle of nowhere? Just complete the mission and damn the fall out."

Hannibal smiled. She didn't know him well enough to know just how ludicrous she sounded. It wasn't his problem, and her thinking it was would only lead to chaos and confusion and bright ideas on her part. But he had no intention of letting Amderiz plunge this country into a civil war. Somehow, Suzy's frustration over the thought that he was planning just that made it all the more amusing to him.

"It's a shame you walked away, Smith. With an attitude like that, you would have made a great CIA director."

He chuckled. "I don't think I was cut out for a desk job."

"I don't know. Delusions of grandeur, overestimation of abilities, inability to listen to field reports, callous disregard for human life..."

"You better stop," BA said coldly. "You gonna make his head even bigger."

She managed to uncross her arms, but he noticed the clenched hands. "With all those qualities you are a natural for the job."

"And I would be bored to death in a week." He paused. "Besides, the Agency and I never really got along. I don't think I could get a job with them even if I wanted it."

"I can't imagine why. You're so wonderful to work with."

"Glad to know you feel that way."

"Tell me something, Smith." She managed to unclench her hands long enough to pull out and light one of the god-awful cigarettes she had taken from Mingo. "If you don't give a damn about anything but completing the mission, then why not let me take Weibel to the president?"

"Because Weibel _is _my mission."

"What's it going to cost you? An extra hour or two?"

Hannibal ignored her. They were getting closer to the spacious residence of General Amderiz. He had other things to think about than how much fun it was to torment Suzy. "Pull off there, BA."

As BA pulled onto an overgrown dirt drive at the side of the road, Hannibal heard the audible sigh from the seat behind him. Once she had her eyes set on something, the woman was like a dog with a bone. She wanted things her way and she was willing to go the hell and back to get them, but this rush, being a part of this mission, was worth the cost of backing down. And that told him a hell of a lot about what her true motives were.


	22. Chapter Twenty One

**CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE**

A bead of sweat rolled down Face's forehead, made a path down his nose and dropped silently onto the stock of his rifle. Laying flat on his stomach in a patch of monkey grass on a rocky outcropping, he focused on the compound several hundred yards away. He watched Hannibal and Suzanne go over the wall in the southeast corner of the General house. The lush garden on the other side offered excellent cover for two people looking to sneak in through the rarely used side door.

No one should be going in or out of the servants' entrance at this time of day. Face watched, just in case, through the scope on the rifle. Hannibal picked the lock with sped and efficiency - almost but not quite as fast as Face could have done it. Despite the heat and sweat and god knows what kind of bug crawling over his ankle, Face smiled. He still had at least one leg up on Hannibal.

On the plus side of this whole sweaty, screwed up situation was the fact that Suzanne was moving like a pro. Quite, certain, alert and - as concerning as it was - jazzed. She acted almost like Hannibal when he was on the jazz; completely focused, energized, cocky and thoroughly pleased with every opportunity to engage and get the best of an opponent.

God help them all.

Moving through the thick garden, the two of them were almost lost in the surroundings. Making a slight adjustment to his scope, he followed them step by step. Bet she was top of her "sneaking around in hostile territory" class in spy school. Hannibal was damn sure at the top of his.

Hannibal and Suzanne had slipped inside, and Face turned his attention to BA - who was entering the perimeter perfectly on cue. It never ceased to amaze Face how a man that big and that noticeable could fade into the background when he wanted to. To his left, Murdock was watching through binoculars. Esther was hidden under a white silk ascot that Murdock had found from God-knows-where. Murdock had claimed she was exhausted and didn't want to see any more violence or, worse, vile manners.

As soon as BA was done with his task of setting the explosives, he would give the signal, and they would move into position. For now, like most missions, it was a matter of waiting for Hannibal's signal. The fact than Hannibal hadn't said exactly _what _that signal would be, just that they would "know it when they saw it", caused a peculiar feeling of dread and anticipation. It was a feeling that was unique to being around Hannibal when he had that look in his eye and that confident, cocky grin.

He sensed the movement from Murdock before he felt the hand on his arm. BA was in the clear. It was all up to Hannibal and Suzanne for now. A quick glance over and Murdock nodded to their next position - one much closer to the electrified razor wire fence. That position would require them to crawl slowly across the sand and scrub brush to reach it. It was the sort of thing they had to do to keep from being seen, the sort of thing they had done so often in so many places that they could all do it backwards, in their sleep. Face sighed to himself. It was also just the sort of thing that was hell on his wardrobe.

*X*X*X*

BA flipped the small toggle switch on the side of the small black box and was rewarded with the small flare of the blinking red light. He couldn't help the smile that slid over his face. In his hand, he held the trigger to several expertly set explosive charges. That fool general was about to have a BA-sized wrench thrown into his plans.

People like Amderiz built a life out of hate and intolerance. All around the man, the people on the island were suffering. Kids were working in the fields and dodging leftover land mines and bombs from the last revolution rather than going to school or playing in the streets. And instead of doing something about that, the idiot was preaching hate and violence and spending a fortune on his own private army to bring more trouble to people who had seen too much of it. It was a waste, and BA hated waste.

He also hated someone thinking they were better than others because of their skin color or how much money they had. BA had been exposed to plenty of prejudice in his lifetime. It was just how things were, 'til the Army. More to the point, until the team. When he'd met them, he was fully prepared for the same comments, jokes, and assumptions that had followed him from Chicago to Vietnam. When they didn't come, he found himself pushing buttons, trying to get their "real reactions" out of them. It wasn't until he swung at Hannibal that it had changed.

_Hannibal had him face first up against the plywood wall of the hootch, arms pinned behind his back. BA was too stunned to move. Who would've thought the man could do it? BA was definitely bigger, and he was pretty sure he was stronger, too. But Hannibal had his wrist locked, and any struggling might result in having it broken. _

_ "Listen up BA, 'cause I'm only going to say this once."_

_ "I don't care what you got to say."_

_ "Well, you listen anyways. You're one of my men now, that's the only thing that matters to me or my team. I don't care how much money your father made, I don't care if your granddad voted democrat or republican, and I damn sure don't give a shit about the color of your skin. You, here and now, is the only thing that makes one bit of difference to me. You got that?"_

And like that, Hannibal had walked away, and BA was left having to see things from a new perspective.

Peering out from behind the stack of tires that hide him from the rest of the compounds view, he gave the signal; a flash of sunlight off the large gold medallion Face had given him for his birthday last year. It was quick, just a brief reflection of the sun aimed towards the small hill outside the front of the general's house. It didn't need to be anything more. They would be watching for it. He knew their eyes were on him.

Back behind his cover, BA went belly first to the ground, hiding in the shadows cast by the tires. He needed a line of sight on the hill. In the quiet, he felt that inner focus and calm that always found him when he was waiting for the action to start. He didn't have to worry about anything. His team, his friends, were out there and he knew they would do their parts. That knowledge made the waiting for the next part of Hannibal crazy plan much easier.

Smiling once again, BA had to admit to himself, he was really looking forward to flipping the switch this time and rocking Amderiz's world.

*X*X*X*

Hannibal crouched behind a marble statue in the alcove at the top of the mahogany staircase. He could feel Suzanne behind him, waiting for the sounds of the guard's footsteps to recede down the long hallway. The general had some nice digs. Beautiful artwork, nice architecture, Persian rugs... There must be good money in being a crazed nut job.

Hannibal cast a quick glance at Suzy. Gun out and at the ready, she was the picture of a professional - focused and ready for anything. There was a hard, eager gleam in her eye that told him she clearly enjoyed the down and dirty aspects of her job. And she wasn't bad, from what he'd seen so far. Good shot, fast reflexes, quiet, highly observant. The energy that sheeted off of her was amusing. She was like a puppy who got excited at the sight of someone picking up a tennis ball, squirming and wiggling with excitement as she tried to obey the command to sit. Anxious and keyed up, and yet obediently controlled, she followed his lead to the office door.

He tried the handle. Locked. He glanced at her and raised a brow. Yet another way to test her skills and, more importantly, her ability to keep her hands steady. Plus it would give her something to focus all that energy on while he kept an eye on their surroundings.

She had her own pick, and she had the door open in less than a minute. Slipping inside, he did a quick sweep of the office as he shut the door soundlessly behind him.

"Fifty seconds," Hannibal said quietly. "Not bad."

She looked smug as she replaced her kit in her pocket.

"Cut that time in half and you might actually be good."

The look she gave him could've only been more perfect if she'd stuck out her tongue. He smiled as he turned his back to her, strolling into the room and scanning the walls. Now where would Amderiz have kept a safe?

Suzanne's eyes narrowed on the wainscoting behind Hannibal. She was on the scent of something, high on the thrill of the chase, the adrenaline, winning. It was a good look for her. It made her eyes almost glow.

"Something's off," she said quietly, moving past him.

Her head was tilted as she studied the wood. Hannibal followed her gaze. He could see what was off. It was asymmetrical, uneven. She ran her hand over paneling, and he watched her with amusement. Her jaw was set, gaze determined. She would figure it out, damn it!

"You read a lot of Sherlock Holmes when you were younger, didn't you?" He asked, watching the way she carefully and meticulously covered the edges.

"Nancy Drew," she corrected. "And Hardy Boys."

"Nancy Drew?" He laughed. "I should've known."

"What's wrong with Nancy Drew?"

"Nothing at all."

Finally, she found the spot she was looking for. She looked smug as she uncovered the safe. With dramatic flair, she stepped back and displayed her find with a sweeping motion. Hannibal smirked.

"I'd applaud, but we're trying to keep a low profile."

Her look was a bit more pointed as she grinned back. "Chalk up one for Nancy Drew."

Getting into the safe took a little longer. They didn't have the code, and Hannibal had normally, throughout the years, left this sort of thing to Face. Not that he _couldn't _do it; but it took him several tries. By the time it finally swung open, Suzanne really _was _wriggling with excitement.

"It's about time!"

She attempted to reach inside, but his hand around her wrist stopped her. "Sorry, Suzy. I don't trust you that much."

She growled under her breath. She wanted to kick him; he could feel it. Just the same way he could feel all the pheromones that were sheeting off of her...

She knew better than to argue with him. Instead, she waited patiently as he glanced over the documents first, then handed them to her. They spread them on the desk and took quick, careful photographs, then shoved them back into the safe.

Noise. Footsteps. Suzanne moved fast, closing the safe and the panel that hid it. By the time she secured it back in place, Hannibal had opened the coat closet door. As they heard the key turn in the lock, he yanked her inside with him, clicking it closed just as the general stepped into the room.


	23. Chapter Twenty Two

**CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO**

The closet was tiny, dark, crowded and hot. There wasn't enough room for one person in here, let alone two. But unless they were going to blow the mission, they were damn well going to have to fit. Hannibal had barley pulled the door of the closet shut when the muffled sound of the General's voice filtered through the closed door.

Suzanne had to strain to hear him, and even then she wasn't able to make out what he was saying. Her heart was pounding, fueled by the adrenaline. She couldn't move. She didn't try. Breathing through her nose was quieter than through her mouth, but with it, she drew in the scent of the man behind her. Suddenly, she realized just how tightly they were pressed together. His hand was on her hip, his breath hot and heavy in her ear. A bead of sweat formed on her forehead and rolled all the way down her neck as she tried like hell to ignore the man she was currently plastered against.

The General's footsteps thudded to a halt right in front of them, without thinking, Suzanne pressed back a little further. It was stupid; he couldn't see her or hear her from the other side of the solid door. Still, it was instinct.

Spanish words for "alone" and "phone call" and the sound of the General's escort leaving. It wasn't safe to move yet, and she pressed back tighter against Hannibal to let him know that. Just because it sounded quiet out there didn't mean they were alone.

"Relax, Suzy..."

His breath, right in her ear, was far too low for anyone to hear through the door. She stopped breathing for a moment as she felt his warm hand move up to her side, under her borrowed shirt. He went no higher than her waist, but as his thumb moved in circles on her sweat-slicked skin, she could feel his lips brush her ear. Jesus, it was hard to breathe.

Her heart was pounding in her ears as she listened to Amderiz make his phone call. Hannibal's arm circled around her waist, pulling her back tighter against his hard chest and dropping his head to set his face against her neck. A soft, whispering noise that wasn't a gasp or a sigh slipped past her lips as she swallowed the lump in her throat. The air was thick, and they were both drenched in sweat, and even through that, she could make out the scent of leather and scotch and cigars. The scent of him.

"I can feel your pulse race," he whispered, dragging his lips along her jaw, back to her ear. "This doesn't turn you on, does it?"

A very different kind of heat flooded through her, settling between her legs. What the hell was wrong with her? How could someone she didn't even like feel so sinfully good and wickedly promising? Why was it so hard to think? Why did she want to -

A startling flash of pain cut off her thoughts as his fingers found her bruised ribs. She couldn't hold back a quiet gasp - more because she was startled than because of the pain itself. As it passed, he pressed his lips to her ear again.

"Shhh..."

Letting her eyes close, she tilted her head back, exposing more of her neck to him and letting her hand come to rest against his thigh. Of its own volition, her hand was running up and down the hard muscles beneath his jeans. _Stupid, very stupid,_ a small voice in her head warned. She didn't care.

Her exposed neck didn't draw his attention the way that... what? She wanted it to? She'd expected it to? His breath, and the warmth of his hard body pressed against her back, was all she felt of him as his hand stopped on her stomach, just holding her, not exploring.

They were still and quiet, barely breathing, until she finally heard the sound of footsteps again. The door opened and closed, and they listened to the silence for a long moment before moving. Then, slowly, Hannibal's grip on her loosened.

"Ready?" His lips brushed her ear again as he whispered to her quietly.

The rush of cooler air was a relief. She found herself gasping for it. Completely drenched in sweat and more than a little lightheaded, it suddenly occurred to her to wonder just how long they both could've survived in there breathing hot, recycled air.

"You alright?" he asked.

It took a few deep, shaking breaths before she could answer. "Yes." That sounded weak even to her own ears. Hell. Try again. "Let's go ruin his revolution."

"Good." Hannibal grinned. "Time for the signal."

*X*X*X*

"What is he doing?" Face asked, watching through the rifle scope as Hannibal spilled a bottle of clear liquid from the second story window.

"Watering the shrubs?" Murdock guessed, watching through the binoculars.

Hannibal was grinning like a madman, cigar in his teeth as he dropped the container - a twenty ounce, clear bottle - and tossed the cigar stub out after it. Whatever he'd spilled, it wasn't water. The bushes kindled into flames in a matter of seconds.

"Houston, we have a signal," Murdock grinned as Hannibal looked up towards where he knew they would be watching and gave a thumbs up.

Face sat up, dismantling the rifle with practiced ease. Murdock had his own assignment.

"Esther, dear, do you mind if I borrow your compact?" he asked before answering in a muffled falsetto.

"Of course not, dear."

By the time Face's rifle was put away, the signal had been flashed to BA. Still sitting on the dirt, Murdock turned and beamed up at Face. "You ready to have some fun?"

Funny how phrases like that could always make Face second guess his level of preparedness.

*X*X*X*

The explosions outside made David Weibel hit the floor on instinct alone. Unsure of what was happening - it sounded like World War III - he made himself as small as he could in the corner of his cell, hands over his head the way they had done in the fallout drills when he'd been a kid. Except this time, there was no desk to hide under.

There was no part of him that wanted to look out the little window and see what was going on out there. As he heard the scuffle in the hallway outside of his cell, he felt no need to investigate that, either. At least, not until he heard the sound of very American voices.

"Sleeping on the job?"

"In my day, sonny, people had work ethic!"

"Children today, sheesh."

Was that one voice or two?

"Come on, Miss Manners."

That voice was definitely different.

As the door swung open, his eyes grew wider. Two men, armed with assault rifles, stepped inside. "David Weibel?"

The second voice he'd heard belonged to a blond man who was definitely not from around here. Of course, neither was his slightly taller partner.

"Who are you?" Weibel asked, his voice shaky. "What do you want?"

"We have come to take you away from all of this!" the taller man announced with dramatic flair.

"Regular knights in shining armor, hired by your friends at UCLA."

The shock quickly gave way to relief, and he pulled himself up, stumbling toward them quickly. He didn't ask questions. He knew, somehow, that it was better not to. Another explosion, and he moved between the two men as they stepped out of his cell and into freedom.

*X*X*X*

"|What the hell is going on here?|"

Suzanne wasn't startled by the General's voice - the sounds of the approach. He would want what was in his safe if he was planning on running.

"|Get my car ready! Call ahead to Rodrigo and tell him to be ready!|"

Suzanne moved to the side of the door, beside Hannibal, as it swung open, shielding them from view. As Amderiz progressed into the room, Hannibal stepped back and closed - then locked - the door behind him. He spun at the sound of it closing.

"Hiya, dirt bag. Miss me?"

Suzanne's gun was trained on him. His eyes widened at the sight of it, but he put his shoulders back as he stood straighter. "How dare you!"

"How dare _we_?" Suzanne mocked as she stepped closer. "You're the one who's got more nerve than you know what to do with."

Amderiz looked her up and down with a sneer of disgust. "_Sucia perra_."

She reacted instantly and almost without thought. She knew Hannibal's gun was still on him; there was no opportunity for him to take advantage of her anger. There wasn't even time for him to react to it as her pistol cracked against the base of his skull. He dropped to his knees, stunned, and a hard right hook sent him sprawling, face first into the carpet. Taking a step closer, she kicked him onto his back and stood with a foot on his chest, gun pointed straight at his head.

"You know, General," Hannibal said calmly, "I don't think she liked your hospitality."

As Amderiz muttered obscenities in Spanish, Hannibal wandered casually closer.

"It's unfortunate for you, because that little gal has one hell of a temper."

Suzanne didn't move or change expression, but she could hear the growl deep in her own throat. He just _had _to get that little jab in there, didn't he?

She took her foot off of the general's chest as Hannibal hauled him up by his collar and dumped him in the chair behind the desk. Not waiting for the suggestion, Suzanne yanked out the phone cord and used it to tie his arms.

"What do you think you are doing?" Amderiz demanded.

Hannibal grabbed the handkerchief out of the general's pocket and shoved it into his mouth. "Right now, we're blowing up your house and sending your army running for the hills. And we're taking my art historian back. Then, before you know it, _El Presidente_ will be stopping by to pay you a visit."

"He may have some awkward questions about an overthrow," Suzanne added with mock sympathy.

At that, Amderiz struggled. But it was far too late for it to be effective. On his way out the door, Hannibal grabbed the cigar case from the desk and grabbed one of the Cubans out of it. "I wouldn't bother trying to get out of that." Hannibal lit the cigar and pointed at Suzanne with it. "She got several merit badges for knot tying in the Girl Scouts."

Suzanne glared, but said nothing as Hannibal took the box of cigars and headed out, a half step behind him, she kept her eyes open and aim steady as they ran from the house and across the lawn, over the fence that had been conveniently covered with a blanket, and off to safety.


	24. Epilogue

**EPILOGUE**

With all the heat and the sweat of subtropical Dorada, Esther had become "disengaged" from Murdock's neck, a near-perfect transfer onto the ascot he'd been wearing. To Murdock's melancholy sadness - and BA's great delight - she had insisted on staying behind. It was, after all, a great little country. They could use someone like her - older, wiser, well mannered, and able to make forty-seven types of jam.

Murdock had given the Esther ascot to David Weibel, who is glad to be free and now working with _El Presidente_ to recover anything they could in order to set up a real museum. Though it was not the way Suzanne had envisioned it, and certainly not a way that gave any credit to anyone, Hannibal had both completed his mission and stopped the revolution. And she, for one, would never forget the way he had handled himself out there. As they returned to the States, they would be, once again, on opposite sides of the law. But he was more than just a worthy opponent. He was Hannibal Smith.

She smiled slightly at her own reflection in the mirror, her mind lost in those thoughts. If she was honest, she wasn't really sure what to think of him right now. Standing in the cramped bathroom of the plane the team was using to escort her back to America, she was torn between her deep respect for the team she had seen in action - and the man who led them - and the knowledge that they were all wanted fugitives.

She gasped in surprise as the door opened, but before she had a chance to speak, Hannibal had stepped into the tiny bathroom. He nearly pushed her over in the process. While the room was larger than the typical commercial airline restroom, it really wasn't designed for two people.

"Hannibal, what are you -"

He had a cuff on her wrist before she could even think to struggle, and had pushed her off balance. There was a thick plastic bar on the wall - handicapped access - and her hands were behind her and attached to it before she could fight back, or even realize what he was doing.

Instinct was to struggle, and she did, kicking at him in the enclosed area. He turned to avoid her knee and came in close, effectively pinning her with one hand on her forehead to keep her from using her head to attack. His other hand was on her hip to hold her still.

"What the _hell_!"

This was not happening. He had not just cuffed her to the bathroom in the private jet he'd probably stolen to get them down to Dorada. But with her hands already cramping as she felt around the bar and the wall, the weight of his body pressing against her, her toes curling as she struggled to balance on her heels, it was clear that he had done just that.

"Sorry, Suzy." That insufferable smirk made it absolutely clear that he wasn't sorry. "We'll be landing in a few minutes, and you and I need to have a talk.

Son of a bitch, he'd been planning this, just like he planned everything else, and she never saw it coming. _Again_!

"My God, what the hell is wrong with you?"

How many damn times had she asked that question? There was no _point _to this, no reason. She was unarmed and she had no assignment to bring him in. Her own personal vendetta was the only thing that had brought her after him this time - a vendetta he'd worked _hard _to attain - and saving her life had pretty much squared them as far as she was concerned. Even if she was _planning _to take them in, they'd saved her life. She at least owed it to them to walk away this time. He knew that. So why was he doing this?

He sighed, almost wistfully. "I wish there was an easy answer to that, Suzy. I'm sure there are a lot of people who'd like to be enlightened."

Clenching her jaw tight, her mind went into overdrive, assessing him. He was amused as hell; that much was evident on his face. This wasn't his way of dealing with a threat. He was playing another goddamn game with her. Even now, she was just a joke to him.

"Do you have some sort of restraint and kidnapping quota you have to meet?" she snapped at him, not bothering to hide her fury. "Or is this just what you do when you're bored?"

He chuckled. "That's one thing I love about you, Suzy. I'm never bored when you're around."

"Fuck you!"

She couldn't even think, to come back with a witty comeback. The knowledge that he was trying to make her angry somehow didn't help her to keep it under control. As his hand stroked across her cheek, she jerked her head back so hard, she banged it on the wall behind her.

"Ow!"

"Well, don't do that," he said simply, softly, as if she ought to know this.

"You bastard. I ought to -"

She didn't finish. She couldn't finish, because suddenly, his mouth was against hers, closed lips pressed together hard. Her eyes widened in shock, every muscle tensing as her brain processed as quickly as it could. It wasn't fast enough to keep up with the instinct, and the memory that immediately came to mind - the way he had felt, pressed against him in that closet. The way he had looked, in charge and commanding his team.

She was responding to his kiss. Slowly, her muscles untensed as her mouth opened to him, but he withdrew rather than to pursue it, and nuzzled her gently, his cheek to hers. Her thoughts were suddenly scattered, and it took her a long moment to put them back together in some semblance of coherence.

"Why are you doing this?" she whispered.

"Even if you're being very friendly right now," he answered softly, "we're still on opposite sides of the law. Your friends and my friends won't get along."

"I have no professional interest in you anymore."

"That wasn't the impression I got at Sonlage."

"Don't get me wrong, I'll take you in. But that's got nothing to do with work."

He laughed softly, his hand slowly moving up her side. She didn't know whether she wanted him to stop or to press harder.

"I'm flattered to be your personal project. But if we keep this up, somebody's going to get hurt."

"I have no interest in keeping it up." Damn it, why did she sound so breathless? Why was her heart beating in her ears, even louder than the soft whisper in her ear? "You saved my life. I'd say we're even."

"You go your way and I go mine?"

"Sounds fair."

He was quiet for a long moment. Then, slowly, he pulled back and looked her in the eye. As she stared back, she suddenly realized she didn't remember his eyes being so clear and blue. As he watched her, he brought his hand up from her side and used his fingers to lightly trace her lips. She tried to ignore the urge to run her tongue behind them.

"The problem is, Suzy, I think I'd actually miss you."

She frowned at the apparent sincerity in that. What the hell was she supposed to say to that? It confused her, almost as much as her body's reaction to his touch and the warmth of his breath. There was a shiver at his fingers running down her neck that she couldn't ignore, and couldn't hide no matter how much she wanted to.

"What do you want from me?" she finally asked, giving up on a reasonable comeback.

"I should ask you the same thing. Though perhaps a better question..."

He leaned closer, pressing his lips to her ear as he traced her collar, fingers trailing down over the buttons on the front of her shirt. Her eyes slid closed as his hand moved feather lightly over her breast.

"How does it feel to want the one thing that's everything you _don't_ want?" he breathed. "And to want it so bad, you can _taste _it."

It was hard to keep her balance. His voice was so smooth in her ear, it made her dizzy, made her skin tighten, it made her almost painfully aware of the simple fact that she was female, and pressed very tightly against a very male presence.

"I don't want you," she managed weakly.

"I don't believe you."

Of course he didn't.

He nuzzled her gently, sliding both hands to her hips, then down slowly. His mouth was only a fraction from hers as he moved his hands down an inch at a time along her thighs. The ringing in her ears made it hard to hear her own thoughts, and the feel of his hands skimming across her made her body clench in unexpected pleasure, anticipation. It was impossible to keep her eyes open. Mouth suddenly dry, she licked her lips, unable to talk. Speech, like rational thought was lost in the swirl of feelings, addictively intense and unfamiliar.

"It really is too bad that our loyalties keep us apart."

He slipped his hands under her skirt, warm, callused palms on the outside of her thighs until his fingers hooked around her panties, at her hips, and slowly drew them down, lips brushing along her jaw.

"I could really learn to like this, you know."

She should resist. Should tell him to stop. He'd handcuffed her to the wall, for crying out loud. Wasn't this an attack? Or something like it? In the back of her mind, she remembered her fury the last time he'd been this close to her. Not that he'd hurt her; he was far too much the gentleman to do that. In fact, when the police had come to uncuff her, she had nothing to tell them, and no one was any wiser to that game he'd pulled her into.

The adrenaline, the rush, had made her vulnerable. She'd felt that same adrenaline a number of times over these past few days. But everything she was feeling right now was so much more intense than just that rush. It was much more... personal. This was what she had felt in that closet, pressed against him. This was his life.

He lived and breathed that adrenaline in a way that few men did. He understood it. And for as much as he was an insufferable bastard - her opinion of him hadn't changed, in that regard - he also had that thing that made everything inside of her blaze to life. She didn't know what it was. She'd never even felt it until she'd seen him lead her away from that prison cell.

He was twenty five years older than her. She'd been learning to walk while he was fighting in Vietnam. He was a criminal, and one whose motives she neither understood nor approved of. He made her furious. And somehow, none of that mattered as his gentle hands lowered her panties slowly.

His hands didn't wander. Disoriented and dizzy, she watched his eyes. What was she supposed to say to him? Not knowing the answers, not being able to think, was far more terrifying than the situation itself.

"Still sure you don't want me, Suzy?"

She was frozen in place, not able to look away, or think as her panties slid down her legs and crumpled at her feet. There were too many conflicting, fragmented pieces of thoughts and emotions in her brain. It left her unable move forward or go back, or to know which direction was safe, or what she wanted.

His lips barely brushed hers again, and her eyes slid closed. Then his breath was on her neck. As his hands moved down, she realized in some far corner of her brain that he was crouching in the confined space. His fingers trailed on her legs, the back of her knees, her shins. She didn't resist him as he lifted her foot. It was just natural to be led by him.

As he stood again, he slid one hand into her hair, holding her head as his mouth closed over hers - a deep and thorough kiss that took her breath away. She could feel the heat gathering between her legs, and the pounding of her heartbeat in her ears made it almost impossible to hear herself think as he slowly withdrew from the kiss and smiled at her.

"You shouldn't be here too long. They'll send somebody to check on this plane as soon as they realize it's unattended."

She blinked, startled and bewildered. "What?"

"Take care, Suzy. I really will miss you."

Shock and confusion and fury hit her all at once as he held her panties up where she could see them, and then in one smooth movement ducked out of the bathroom and closed the door behind him. Eyes wide, it took her a moment to even find words.

"Hannibal!" She kicked the door as hard as she could, and lost her shoe in the process. But it didn't open. "God damn you! You dirty, rotten, son of a bitch! Let me out of here!"

But he was long gone. And it was only a few seconds of angry, sputtering insults later that she felt the plane touch down.


End file.
